The White Rose
by Jezebel95
Summary: AU: no magic! After the car crash that killed her parents and left her broken, 17-years-old Hermione Granger has to move with her little sister from Seattle to Ottery St Catchpole,where she'll meet a redheaded boy...Full summary inside! R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own any character: everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot of this story.**

**AU! Warning: no magic -sorry to wizards and charms lovers-! I'm not from an English-speaking Country, so, please, don't mind my grammar if I made some mistakes. I hope you enjoy the reading! R&R!**

**After the car crash that killed both of her parents and left her broken, seventeen-years-old Hermione Granger has to deal with the pieces of her former life, trying to put them back together. She and her little sister Emma have to move from their house in Seattle to Ottery St Catchpole, a small town not far from London, England, to stay with their great-aunt Elspeth, their only alive relative. There Hermione discovers a new way of living, and she attends classes at the very unusual school of Hogwarts, where she meets a redheaded boy who helps her and changes her life in a way she would have never believed possible.**

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><p>Chapter 1: Broken<p>

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

The rhythmical, faint sound sank into my brain, slowly pushing its way through the darkness that surrounded me. At first it just annoyed me, but, after a few seconds, it became odd, bothering. It was reminding me of something, a noise that was louder and deeper, and much, much frightening. I didn't want to remember, though: I knew it wouldn't be pleasant, somehow. It felt like a bad dream that had been buried into the depths of my brain for a long time was being pulled out roughly, almost painfully.

Cold fear sank into my heart as a confused, foggy image formed into my mind: I didn't want to see. The beeping sound sped, becoming frantic, and suddenly it turned in a low, powerful rumble that shook me from head to toe with the force of a thunder.

Then everything came back to me: the sudden flash of light, the ominous, massive shape of the truck speeding towards us out of control, the piercing scream coming out of my mouth 'Dad-watch out!'. The excruciating pain in my legs, so intense it made me wish I was already dead, and the darkness of unconsciousness, cold and reassuring, almost a blessing after the terrible agony.

My eyes shot open, and the intense light blinded me, forcing me to half-close my eyelids.

Everything around me was white: the ceiling, the fissured tile walls, the crisp sheets of the bed I was lying into. A _hospital bed_, I understood. My whole body felt numb, and a dull ache throbbed in my bones; something was stuck on the inside of my left arm -an Iv, maybe-, and the beeping sound I heard was coming from a machine that monitored my vitals. I blinked a few times, trying to focus, with the rumble of the truck horn still in my ears.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered everything: my mother, my father…I knew they were dead. I remembered seeing their still bodies covered in blood as I waited for help or death to come and get me, trapped in the wreck of our car. I wanted to cry, but the sobs just wouldn't come out of the knot in my throat, not yet, at least. I drew in a trembling breath, and just then I felt a small, warm hand squeezing mine.

"Mione, you are awake!" squealed a small, tired voice. I blinked again, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. Emma. Emma was here. How could I forget her for even the smallest second? I turned my head carefully, and saw her.

She was sitting on a uncomfortable-looking, holey armchair by my bed, her jeans-covered legs folded under her small body, her dark, curly hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She was holding my hand and, with her other arm, she was squeezing her beloved stuffed Eeyore, the one she always had with her. "I was so worried! The doctor said you were sleeping, and I tried to wake you up, but you didn't open your eyes, and I thought you were going to stay like this forever!"

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her strawberry pink sweatshirt. I managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry, honey," I croaked, squeezing her hand back. She nodded, her blue eyes still worried, and sniffed again.

"I tried to ask them where mommy and daddy are, but they said they couldn't tell me. Do you know where they are, Mione?" She was so trusting when she looked at me…How could I tell the truth? How could I tell her that they were gone, that they would have never come back? That she would have never seen them again? I closed my eyes for a second.

"No, Em, I don't know where they are," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Emma looked at me intently for a few seconds, and bit her lip. I saw tears shining in her eyes as she did so.

"They are not here, are they?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"No, honey, they are not here," I said, my voice breaking despite my attempts of keeping it steady.

Then she burst into tears, and I knew she had understood. I opened my arms, ignoring the Iv and the bandages that wrapped almost every surface of my body, and she climbed onto my cot, cuddling against my chest as sobs shook her frail shoulders. I held her tight, tucking her head under my chin, and closed my eyes, trying to hold back tears. I wanted to cry just like her, but I couldn't, not now. Emma was only five, and she needed me, now more than ever, so I had to be strong for both of us, no matter how shattered I felt.

"It's going to be ok," I whispered, stroking her bushy hair. "_We_ are going to be ok. I promise." But even I was skeptical about my own promise.

It was a long time before Emma calmed down, but eventually her sobs stopped and her breathing slowed as she drifted off to sleep. But, even then, tears kept rolling down her cheeks silently, leaving shiny, salty marks on her cheeks. For the millionth time in the last hour, I thanked God Emma wasn't in the car with my parents and I. Mom decided to leave her with our neighbor tonight, so she wouldn't have to come with us. I closed my eyes with a sigh. It seemed impossible that, just a few hours ago, everything had been absolutely perfect…

_Right after the end of the ceremony, I ran to my parents, smiling wide. They both hugged me, laughing and congratulating, and I blushed a little, swaying with happiness at the thought of my victory. It was still hard to believe I had really won the Washington Interschool Debate Competition: there were hundreds of people taking part to it, from every school in the state, and many of them were older than me…But I had done it! _

"_Honey, we are so proud of you!" Mom crooned, hugging me again, as Dad ruffled my already messy hair. "We have to celebrate tonight!" he said cheerfully, handing me my jacket. "We are taking you out for dinner, honey! Where do you want to go?" I laughed, putting on my coat. "Wherever you want, Dad: I'm starving!"_

_Outside it was raining heavily -not that it was an unusual thing in Seattle-, so we ran to the car, our feet splashing in the small, shallow puddles in the asphalt._

"_So, how about going to _Bella Napoli_?" Dad asked me as soon as we got into the car. I smiled and nodded: I loved Italian food, and that was the best Italian restaurant in town. It was a thirty minutes ride to the diner, so I settled back into my seat, watching the raindrops running on the car window, forming intricate cobwebs on the glass. _

_We never got there. _

_Everything was normal -the radio was on, and Mom was singing in a low voice on the melody of an old song she loved, while Dad hummed softly, slightly off-key as always-, and, suddenly, I saw a flashing light coming towards us at an alarming speed from the right. _

"_Dad-watch out!" I screamed, but the sound was covered from the rumble of the truck horn, deep and powerful as a thunder. _

_Then it hit us, and our car crumpled, rolling to the side again and again. The windows shattered, and I covered my face with my arms in an attempt to protect myself from the sheds of glass; I felt the sharp edges cutting my flesh through the sleeves of my shirt, but that pain was nothing compared to the fire burning in my legs. I screamed so loud my throat ached, and tears started to run down my face. I tried to move, but I was trapped: the front seat had jerked back, crushing my legs under it. _

"_Mom! Dad!" I called, but no one answered. _

_In that moment, I understood: I was the only living thing left in the car._

_But I couldn't believe it. I _didn't want_ to believe it. _

_I tried to pull out, reaching forward to look at the still shapes of my parents' bodies in the front seats. The only things I saw were the dark green sleeve of my father's sweater and the light blue, flowered skirt of my mother's dress. They were ripped and covered in blood. There was so much blood…I closed my eyes and sobbed silently, praying a God I've never believed in for the first time in my life. _

_The cold rain soaked my clothes and my hair, flowing through the shattered windows, and I started to feel numb. With the cold, came the darkness. _

_I accepted it as a precious gift and floated into the blackness, letting it take me away from the pain._

I don't know how long I stayed like that, unmoving, playing that scene again and again in my head. Minutes, or maybe hours, I couldn't tell: there wasn't a clock in the room, and the light escaping from a gap in the closed curtains was grey, so it was impossible to determine if it was from the sun suffocated by another cloudy day or from the pale brightness of the streetlamps. Eventually, though, someone came in, drawing my attention back to reality.

It was a pale, thin woman with short blond hair and kind sky blue eyes. She was wearing a long white coat, on the collar of which was pinned a nametag that said 'Dr A. Maxwell'.

"Hi," she said, smiling. "You are Hermione, right?" I nodded, gently pushing Emma aside to look at the doctor.

She was pretty young -twenty-five, maybe-, and she was very short, so she looked almost my age. That was odd.

"I'm doctor Maxwell, but everyone here calls me Abigail." I nodded again, still not trusting myself to speak. "I'm one of the doctors who operated you."

I frowned: operated? I hadn't been operated, didn't I? "Sorry, I don't understand," I said honestly. She sighed, sitting into the small armchair Emma had sat in waiting for me to wake up.

"No one has come talking to you since you woke up, ain't I right?" I grimaced.

"I think you are," I said in a small voice. I didn't like where the conversation was going. Dr Abigail shook her head.

"They'll hear me: they can't ignore me just because I'm the younger surgeon here," she muttered, to herself more than to me.

"So, what is it that they should have told me?" I asked innocently, trying to look nonchalant.

"It's-your conditions were pretty bad when they brought you here. Your wounds weren't that deep, and you hadn't lost much blood, but…the front seat of the car had yanked back, and it…had shattered your legs."

I bit my lip: so that was the reason of the excruciating pain I felt back in the car, before passing out.

"How badly?" I asked, my mouth dry. Dr Abigail grimaced in sympathy.

"It's not important-"

I pulled myself up, supporting my weight with my arms. "How badly, doctor?"

I realized just in that moment that I couldn't move my legs-at all. I could barely feel them. I hoped it was because of the morphine they must have given me to put me to sleep.

The woman lowered her gaze, not answering my question.

"Doctor Maxwell, I've just lost my parents in a car crash. I have my baby sister to take care of now, and I don't know how to do so, since I'm only seventeen-barely. I think I deserve the truth. How. Bad. Are. My. Injuries." I spoke the last five words slowly and angrily, almost spitting them through my clenched teeth.

The doctor nodded, her lips curving up in a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We tried to mend the bones as best as we could, using metal supports and plaques, but it wasn't simple: your legs were broken in many parts, some of them very small where the metal bars of the seats had crushed them."

I bit my lip hard, until I tasted blood on my tongue. I had a very bad feeling about what the doctor was about to say. I sat up straighter and tried to move any muscle of my legs, without success. I couldn't even wiggle my toes.

"And-your muscles are damaged as well." Dr Abigail added in a low voice.

"We stitched them back together, but we are not sure-" I interrupted her, lifting my hand with my palm towards her, in the universal gesture for 'stop'.

What, they had sent her here just to tell me that they had fixed me as best as they could, but that they were not _sure_ if everything went well? Somewhere Upstairs, someone was really making fun of me.

I pushed the sheets aside, and looked down at my legs. Tight casts wrapped them, keeping them still. It was no big deal, since I could not move them anyway.

There was just one thing I needed to know, but I was afraid of hearing what the doctor would have answered me. I forced myself to speak.

"Will I be able to walk again?" I wasn't a doctor, but I was no fool either: I knew what _shattered bones_, _metal plaques_ and _muscular damages _implied. I had read enough books to know that such injuries could permanently impair the faculty of walking.

Dr Abigail sighed. "We are not sure," she whispered. "We'll know only after we remove the casts. And, even if the damages will heal well, it will take a very long time to recover and start walking again."

I closed my eyes, my shoulders shaking slightly. I was going to break down, I knew that. Losing my parents and my legs in the same day was too much, even for me.

"Thank you, Doctor," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I spoke. She put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "I'm sorry," she said simply before standing up and walking away. I sat there, in silence, staring absently at a crack in the white tile walls.

I might have not been able to walk again. Ever. I hid my face in my hands and cried, for my parents, for myself, for Emma, who would have probably been given to another family. I was broken, inside and out, and I didn't know how to fix myself up, not this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry it took so much, guys, but I had to study a lot this week…It's exams time at my school here in Italy, so I will have very little time to write in the next few weeks. Anyway, I will try to add a new chapter every week or so. For the ones who reviewed this story, thank you! The others, shame!**

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><p>Chapter 2: Five Weeks<p>

I looked at myself in the stained mirror of the hospital bathroom, and sighed: my skin was snowy pale against the black of my jacket, and a red cut stood out on my right cheekbone; my bushy, curly hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, tamed for once, and my face looked sharper, somehow, without the dark curls falling around it. I wasn't surprised, though: I had always been skinny, but in the last week I hadn't eaten almost anything, so I had grown even thinner. My chocolate-brown eyes were tired and sad, and there were dark, bruise-like shadows under them. That was all that the small mirror showed back: a sad, lone girl. What I couldn't see in my reflection was the huge, heavy wheelchair I was sitting in. I took a deep breath and pulled myself out of the bathroom slowly, trying not to hit anything on my way.

Emma was sitting on my bed, holding her stuffed Eeyore tight against her chest. She looked even smaller and frailer in her black jeans and jacket. "Thank you, Lav. For everything," I said, pushing myself towards the bed. Lavender Brown, a short, chubby sixteen-years-old girl with blue eyes and tangled blonde hair, smiled. "Don't worry, Mione. You don't have to thank me."

Lavender and I were best friends since third grade; people always wondered why we were always together, since we were exact opposites, not only in our appearance but also in our attitude -I was a bookworm, always reading or studying, and I was really shy and introvert; Lavender, instead, was a rambler, outgoing and enthusiastic, and a real chatterbox-, but we didn't have an explanation for that: we were best friends, period. She had come rushing here as soon as she saw the news' report about the accident, and she had helped me in every possible way, from going to my house to take the black clothes Emma and I needed for the funeral to go with my sister to the cafeteria downstairs to convince her to eat something. Right now, she was here to help us to the hospital's lot, where her father waited for us to go to my parents' funeral. I had to beg the doctors for two days to get the permission to attend the service.

Lavender and Emma went out, and I followed them, trying to get used to my new way of moving. If I had to spend the rest of my life on that _thing_, it would have been better to learn to use it quickly. Lavender's father helped me into the car, and I thanked him, shame flushing my cheeks: I hated not being able to do things myself, having to ask for help to do even the easiest move. But there I was, just a useless weight to carry for anyone. The ten-minutes ride to the cemetery was utterly silent, and when we arrived there was a small crowd of people waiting for us, all of them dressed in black. They were talking, but they went silent as soon as I approached, sitting on the wheelchair, the concrete proof of what had happened.

I knew how they saw me: the poor Granger child, who had somehow survived the terrible crash and who was now forced to depend on others to live. I hated their pity and I hated them as they walked to me one by one, saying how sorry they were for my terrible loss: I had never seen most of them in my whole life, even if they professed themselves good friends of my parents. Liars, all of them: probably they hadn't seen my parents in years. I answered dryly, and I heard more than one of them saying I had a horrible attitude.

But I didn't care.

I managed to keep control for the whole ceremony, but when they lowered the two coffins in the hollow I couldn't hold myself anymore, and I started to cry, holding Emma's hand. My parents were in a hole in the ground, there was no other way to see it.

I pushed myself forward to the edge of the hollow, two white roses in my hand. They were two wonderful flowers, perfect and elegant. Modest, not like those orchids I saw around. I held them with such force the thin, curved thorns punctured my fingers and palm. Blood spilled from the tiny cuts, dripping on the white petals.

I looked at it with self-consciousness, feeling just like that rose: death had tainted my innocence with blood. I kissed the flowers and let them fall in the hole. I knew the people around me expected some tearful, touching speech, but I didn't know what to say: how can you say goodbye to someone you have known for your whole life, someone who had held you when you cried and taken care of you when you were sick? It was impossible, unimaginable. But I had to do so. Not in front of all those strangers, though.

So I spoke softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Goodbye, Mom, Dad. I love you." Emma, her small face wet with her tears, sniffed. She had two roses in her hand too, but they were pink. She let them fall onto the coffins, whispering: "Goodbye, mommy, daddy. I'll miss you, but there's Mione with me, so you don't have to worry. I love you." Her words made me want to cry even harder, so I took her hand and pulled her onto my lap, holding her tight. "I love you, honey, do you know that?" I whispered into her hair, stifling a sob. She nodded, curling up against my chest. "I love you too."

Mr Brown took us back to the hospital, and I thanked him and Lavender for helping us so much. "I'll come and visit every day," Lavender promised hugging me. I smiled sadly. "You'll find me here," I said, half-joking. The doctors said I would have had to stay there for a few weeks, until they could take off the cast, so… We waved at them as they drove away, and we went in with the nurse waiting for us at the entrance. "You know what? We go and change from these horrible black clothes, and then I'll take you to that playground area in the children wing." Emma smiled a little. "Really?" she asked, her face lighting up. I nodded. "Yep. C'mon, let's get to our room."

Emma changed into her favorite pink sweatshirt, and I put back on my hospital robe, longing for my old, comfortable clothes. _Just a few more weeks_, I reminded myself. We went out and, with a little of luck -and help from one of the nurses- we eventually reached the playground area.

It was a large room with the walls painted of a warm, bright yellow and a soft, fluffy light blue wall-to-wall carpet on the floor. There were toys all over the place -stuffed puppets, dolls, Lego blocks, toy cars, puzzles and such things-, and five or six children were playing with each other. Emma hesitated by my side, squeezing her stuffed donkey with such force I thought the poor puppet would have exploded, and she didn't leave my hand, staying close to my wheelchair. "Don't worry, honey," I told her, smiling. "Go playing with them." She nodded, but didn't move of an inch. Then one of the kids came towards us, smiling. She was maybe six or seven; she had blonde pigtails and kind blue eyes, and a million freckles on her nose and cheeks. She held out her hand, and Emma took it sheepishly, following the little girl to the small group of kids. I smiled, shaking my head, and pulled back towards the benches where a few women -the children's mothers, probably-, were chatting in a low voice.

One of them, a thin, tall woman with a long nose and piercing light green eyes, looked at me with a sly smile. "Oh, is that dark-haired girl your baby? She's so cute!"

I scowled at her: was she saying that Emma was my _daughter_? I mean, I barely showed my seventeen years, how could I have a five-years-old child? "She's my sister," I said dryly, biting my lip to hold back what I really wanted to say. The woman's smile grew wider. "So why are you taking her here? It looks like you are the one who should stay in bed…Where are your parents?" I stared back at her in open dislike.

"They are dead," I said coldly, looking her in the eye. The woman shut up immediately, and I couldn't help but smiling with bittersweet satisfaction. For once, I was the one who had the last word.

We stayed there for an hour or so; then we went back to our room. When we got in, though, we saw we weren't alone: there was a woman sitting in the armchair by my bed. She was tall and lean, with pale blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head and light blue eyes. She was dressed in black from head to toe -black trousers, black jacket, black shoes-, except for her white shirt. Her whole person screamed _Social assistant!_

I straightened my back and pushed my wheelchair towards the woman. "May I help you?" I asked politely. She smiled. "If you are Miss Hermione Granger, I think you can," she said. I managed to smile back. "I am, ma'am." I pushed my wheelchair forward so I was in front of her, and Emma climbed on the other cot, the one she slept into, looking at the woman in suspicion. I was so proud of her! The woman smiled kindly at us, and I put on my best I-am-a-really-good-girl expression on my face. "I'm Anne White, but you can call me Anne. I'm here talk to you about some dispositions of your parents. I know it's not a good moment for you now, but we really have to work these things out…" I looked at her in surprise.

"You-you are not a social assistant?" I asked, suddenly hopeful. Anne smiled. "No, I'm not," she said laughing. "So you are not here to take Emma away, aren't you?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Again, I'm not. Why should I?" I smiled, a genuine smile this time. "It's just that-I mean, I'm not an adult yet, and we don't have any relatives, so I thought she might have been given to another family." The woman shook her head. "No one's going to split up the two of you, I can assure that to you."

I sighed in relief. "Thank you," I whispered to no one in particular as Anne pulled a few sheets of paper out of her bag. "I'm here to read you your parents' last will." Then it hit me: their testament. I didn't expect them to have one. "Substantially, they left everything to the two of you. The house, the money…everything they owned. But since Emma is only a child, everything is yours. Or, at least, it will be, as soon as you'll be eighteen. Which you will be in…"

"Ten months," I said. "But if I'm still a minor, where will we go? To a…stepfamily until I'll be officially an adult?" I asked, suddenly worried. She had assured me Emma and I would have been together, but what if we had to go and stay with a new family? Anne shook her head, half smiling. "No, nothing like that. You see, it's not true that you don't have any relatives: your father's aunt lives in a small town named Ottery St Catchpole, and she'll be the one who will take care of you until next July, when you'll be eighteen."

I smiled: a relative! Oh, that would have been perfect! "My father's aunt…So, she was my grandfather's sister, right?" The woman nodded. "But where's this…Ottery St Catchpole? I've never heard of this town…Is it here in Washington?" Anne looked a little uncomfortable. "No, not exactly. It's in England." I frowned. "England? You mean New England? It's on the East Coast! It's, like, a thousand miles from here!" I complained. Everything we still had was here: our home, our schools and friends. How could we move so far from Seattle, even if it was for less than a year?

"No, Miss Granger, I mean _England_. The old England." I widened my eyes. "England? It's in Europe! It's-it's on the other side of Earth!" I was shocked: _England? _I had just a few images of it, and those were just things like red double-deck buses, the Big Ben, Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare! We couldn't really have to move to England! "Yes," said Anne with a grimace of sympathy. "I know it's far from here, but it's this, or a stepfamily. And, in that case, you and your sister could be easily separated: social assistants usually send older kids like you to institutions."

Emma jumped off the bed and climbed onto my lap, taking my hand. "Mione, I want to stay with you," she said in a small voice. I took her in my arms. "Don't worry, honey, we'll stay together. I won't let anyone take you away from me, I promise. We'll go to England, if that's what we have to do." Anne smiled, caressing Emma's ruffled hair. "I guess that's all. Your parents' lawyer will do the rest of the work, you don't have to worry about anything." I nodded, trying to smile. "When shall we leave? I mean, I guess I'll be stuck here at the hospital for a few weeks, since they have to take off my casts before dismissing me, so…"

Anne put her papers back into her bag. "I've already talked with the doctors: you'll be out of here in five weeks, and then you'll leave. We'll give you the time to pack all of your things first, don't worry about that. I'll give you the plane tickets myself three days before the departure. So, I guess I'll see you in five weeks, Miss Granger." She held out her hand, and I shook it.

"Five weeks," I repeated sadly. I had three weeks to say goodbye to all of my friends and leave the town I was born into. I sighed: it really sucked.

As days passed by, I discovered that there were not much things to do at the hospital. Emma and I explored the wing of the hospital we were in a bit, but soon the nurses complained about our wandering, and we stopped. Emma spent a few hours to the playground in the children ward, but after a while she decided to quit -she was too shy to make friends with the other kids; sadly, she was too similar to me in this-, so we ended up in our room, reading -well, _I _read, while Emma played with her Game Boy, which Lavender had brought her the day after the funeral-.

My very few friends came visiting me two or three times, but eventually they just ended up phoning me every once in a while to know how I was, probably thinking that, now that I was about to leave to spend the rest of the year in England and they couldn't ask me help with their homework anymore, it was useless to keep in contact with me. I thought I would have suffered seeing how little they cared for me, but then I realized I didn't care for them, either: they needed me just to copy my essays and tests at school, and I didn't need them at all, for anything.

Maybe leaving would have been easier than I thought.

The only one who stayed with me was Lavender: she came visiting every day, bringing with her sweets, flowers, books, peluches and every kind of things to keep Emma and I happy and busy. After a while, our days took the sweet, comfortable path of routine, and, too quickly, the five weeks passed, and I found myself not prepared for this -at all-.

The day Dr Abigail came to take off my casts it was raining, and I tried not to take it as an omen as she led me to her office, Emma bouncing happily behind us. She didn't know anything about the conditions of my injuries, and I decided I wouldn't have told her anything, so I left her waiting for me on a stuffed chair outside while the doctor worked. I was frightened, even if I would have never admitted it, even to myself. Today, they would have told me whether or not I could have walked again. The doctor moved forward to help me getting onto the narrow cot in a corner, but I shook my head, stopping her. "I can do this myself," I said stubbornly. I grabbed the metal bars on the side of the bed and pulled myself up with my arms, clenching my teeth as my muscles protested for the labor. I had done it several times in the last few weeks, but it took anyway much more effort than I thought it would have been necessary.

Eventually, though, I smiled proudly at the doctor, straightening my back, my cast-wrapped legs lolling over the side of the cot. While the woman worked to break the casts, I kept looking at the ceiling, at the rain out of the window, at the goldfish in the small bowl onto the doctor's desk -at _everything _but at my legs, basically-, holding my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was painfully aware of every second passing by.

Then, suddenly, I felt the tight grip of the casts loosening, and I was free.

I bit my lip, closing my eyes for a second, praying silently. _Tell me it's going to be ok, tell me it's going to be ok, tell me it's going to be ok…_Then I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat: my legs were incredibly thin, due to the long immobility, and my pale skin was marked with long, thick scars the color of unripe cherries. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and the doctor misunderstood them. "They can be removed surgically, don't worry. It will need a few months for them to heal completely, but then you will be able to get rid of them." I nodded absentmindedly, not looking at her. I didn't tell her I was going to keep them as a memento of what I had been through.

"Try to move your right leg, very slowly," she told me. It took a while to do so, but eventually I accomplished, swaying weakly one leg, then the other. It was strange: I almost didn't recognize those muscles as mine, after all that time. And it was hard even to wiggle my toes. The doctor moved my legs carefully, testing the way the wounds had healed, and she seemed pretty pleased. Hope rose in my chest before I could push it aside.

And then: "You know, I think you are a very lucky girl." I smiled, and a tear escaped my eyes: maybe I would have been able to fix myself up, even this time.

As soon as I came back to my room, I grabbed my cell and phoned Lavender. She answered almost immediately -she knew today was _the day_-, and I burst out: "TheysaidmylegsarefineI'mgoingtowalkagain!"

"What did you say? Please, Mione, slow down: I know your brain runs ten times faster than mine, but have mercy of me, I really didn't get anything!" I laughed, happiness and relief pouring out of every single pore of my skin. "They said my legs are fine," I repeated, barely able to keep myself from shouting with joy. "I'm going to walk again!" Lavender squealed on the other end of the line. "Really! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! That's wonderful! Hang on for a second!" I heard her running away, crying: "MOM! She's fine! She's fine!" Typical of Lavender, spreading the good news to the family and friends. Then she came back to the phone. "I'm so, so, so happy! When will they dismiss you?" I smiled. "They said tomorrow."

"Perfect: we'll get you home, don't worry. And I'll help you pack everything: I recruited my brothers ten days ago to do the work -they owed me one-, so you won't have much to do!" I laughed. "That's great, Lav. So, see you tomorrow morning?"

"'Course!"

It was wonderful to wear my clothes again: I was totally sick of those hospital robes. It took a while to put on my jeans and an old pair of sneakers, but eventually I did it. Then I grabbed my favorite hoodie -lilac, with a large pocket on the front- and started to pack the few things we had brought there in a duffel bag. I was fighting with the fastenings when I heard a soft knock on the doorframe. I was sitting on the bed, so I just lifted my eyes to face the visitor. It couldn't be Lavender, it was still too early for her to be here. I wasn't surprised, so, as I recognized Anne White's pale blonde hair and light blue eyes.

"May I come in?" she asked, smiling. I nodded, giving a last tug at the zipper of the bag and finally closing it. "Your doctor told me you are healing well," she said, sitting on the end of my bed. I nodded, lowering the bag onto the floor. "Yes, it seems like that." Anne's smile grew wider. "I'm happy for you: you'll see, it won't take that long to recover. Anyway, I came to give you your tickets." She handed me two long cards.

"Your plane leaves on Friday at 10.30 from Seattle/Tacoma International Airport. I talked to them about getting you on board with your wheelchair, and they said-" I interrupted her, shaking my head. "I won't need the wheelchair. My muscles can support me, even if with effort. I can get on board with crutches." I was determined not to use that stupid _thing _more than I needed to. The doctor said I could start trying to walk around with sticks if I wanted, and the previous afternoon I had spent almost two hours trying to get on my feet by myself. It hadn't been easy, and I had had to support myself completely on the crutches, but after a while I had regained a little confidence with walking. I had three more days ahead to practice, so it shouldn't have been big trouble -at least, I hoped so-. Anne smiled, nodding. "You are a very brave girl, do you know that?" she asked softly. I shrugged. "I just want to make things the better I can, for both my sister and I. And I don't want to depend on a stupid wheelchair or on other people. I'm made this way: it's not bravery, but pigheadedness." The woman nodded. "It's just another way to call it," she said, standing up. "So, I'd better go. I just came to give you the tickets and the last information you needed."

She held out her hand and I took it, shaking it. "Goodbye, Miss Granger."

I smiled back at her. "Goodbye."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: New House, New Life, New Everything

I took a deep breath, biting my lip, the keys in my hand shaking slightly in my too-tight grip. It was stupid to fear this, but I couldn't do anything about it. I tried to gain strength from the feeling of Emma's hand clutched onto my sleeve and Lavender's arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I finally pushed the key into the lock and turned it quickly, opening the door. Then I stepped in and looked around.

Nothing had changed in the six weeks we had been away: everything was exactly as I remembered. For the tiniest moment a crazy, irrational thought sneaked in my mind: _I bet Mom and Dad will be so happy to have us home again…Mom will start crying as always, and Dad will give us one of his bear hugs-_

And then reality hit me, along with the stuffy, slightly dusty smell of the house, untouched for so much time. There was no one waiting for us here, and there would have never been again.

I felt Lavender's arm squeezing my shoulder sympathetically, steading me. My knees were wobbly and weak, and I would have tripped without her supporting me, even though I had crutches keeping me on my feet. Emma came closer to me, her large blue eyes wandering around the empty rooms with a sadness that broke my heart.

"C'mon, Em," I said softly, trying to smile. "I bet you missed your room a lot. Even if I will never be able to understand how you can even _walk_ in there with all those toys around…" She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright, and I felt relieved as we walked together to her room.

Her door was of smooth, white wood with large baby pink flowers painted all over it, in a perfect Emma style. She left my side and almost run in, jumping on her queen sized bed and bouncing on the soft mattress, her face lit up by a small but happy smile. I could never understand _how _she managed to convince my parents to buy such a large bed, since five of her spoiled self could have slept in there comfortably, but somehow she did. It was huge, with a pink embroidered bedspread and fluffy pink tulle curtains falling in soft puffs on both sides of it. And it was literally covered in puppets of every shape and color, to the point that it almost disappeared under them.

The rest of the room was exactly like her bed: girly, bubbly and _pink_. Utterly, completely _pink_. The wallpaper was white with a soft pattern of pink flowers on it; the curtains of her windows had little pink stars on them, even the chair of her desk was pink.

She loved that color; I, on the other hand, couldn't stand it since the age of four, when a kid in playschool told me that dressed in pink I looked like an Easter egg with bushy hair.

"Oh, I forgot how comfy my bed was! The one at the hospital was so narrow…"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Just because you are used to sleep in a ridiculously large bed. You funny little monkey…" She wrinkled her nose when I called her like that, and buried her face in the soft fur of her peluches.

"I'm not a monkey!" she complained, her voice muffled by the puppets. I chuckled at the sound of her voice, amused and annoyed at the same time.

"Yep, you are! You are my little pink-loving monkey!" It was fun, teasing her like that: I often did that, and we always ended up playing fight together, Emma laughing breathlessly while I tickled her until she gave up.

It was one of _our _things, one of those big sister-little sister habits we loved so much, like reading fairytales together curled up on the sofa in winter, or watching stars during clear summer nights in July. Emma scoffed and sank further in her toys, almost disappearing under them.

"I love pink, but I AM NOT A MONKEY, HERMIONE!" she screeched, her voice raising of two octaves at the end of the sentence. "Ok, sweetie, got it. No monkeys here, just cute little Emmas," I said, giving up and leaning against the doorframe, watching her with affection.

My little Em, my funny monkey, my baby. Maybe it was because of the twelve years of age difference between us, but I had always adored her, since the very day she was born. It was almost like she was mine: I had spent countless hours rocking her when she was just a toddler, and then helping her with everything, from comforting her after she had a bad dream to supporting her bike as she learned to ride it at the park near our house. She was bright and bubbly, she could bring out my happiness and joy -a thing no one else, not even my parents, were able to do-, and there was no one in the world I loved more than her. I smiled seeing her so calm and happy just to be home, so I assumed she wouldn't have blown up anything if I left her alone in there for a while.

My room was right next to hers, but there were no flowers on my door, just the words Hermione's Room written in a neat cursive, the deep blue of the paint I had used standing out on the white wood. I pushed the door open and stepped in, always supporting most of my weight on my crutches, always with Lavender by my side, like she was ready to steady me in case I lost my balance.

Everything was exactly like I had left it before leaving for the contest at school: my schoolbag abandoned by the desk, the stack of books on my nightstand, the small pile of folded clothes onto the dresser. Just the thin, grey veil of dust covering the honey-colored wooden surfaces of my furniture witnessed that time had passed. I sighed, plopping onto my bed and smoothing the slightly crinkled blue bedspread with my hand.

I had spent so many hours reading or studying there I had lost count of them; it was my space, made for me exactly as I wanted: it was large and relaxing, with the light blue flowers on the wallpaper, the white gauze curtains shielding the dim light just the littlest bit and my almost four hundred books placed neatly on the shelves of the huge bookcase which occupied a whole wall from floor to ceiling. I had always loved it, but, somehow, it just made me sick in that very moment: it was too tidy, too silent without all those noises I was used to hear from all around the house.

Suddenly, I was looking forward to leave for England: I had nothing left here, just bits and pieces of my former life. I didn't want to forget, but I needed to heal, and a fresh start in a new Country seemed the perfect way to do it. At least, that was what I hoped.

I didn't want to waste time, so I immediately started packing my things. I didn't have much to bring with me: just my clothes and my books, nothing else. I could have done it by myself, but Lavender insisted in not letting me.

"How could you reach the books on the upper shelves and lift those boxes if you can barely stand on your feet?" she asked me, smiling, as she called her brothers to help us.

The two kids came quick -after all, the Brown family lived on the other side of the road-, complaining with their sister for forcing them to work, but glad to be useful (or, at least, that was what they said).

So, little Tommy, who was seven and in total adoration of Emma, volunteered to help her with her toys, while Andrew, a tall, strong fifteen-years-old, was recruited by Lavender to do the 'hard work'.

We ended up in my room, Lavender putting the stacks of books into the boxes, while I sealed and numbered them and Andrew piled them one on top of the another. It took almost two hours and seventeen boxes to pack all of my books, and when we eventually finished Lavender laughed, pointing at the pile of boxes in the middle of my room.

"How are you supposed to take all of these with you?" she asked, plopping on the floor near my chair. I sighed and made a face, glancing sadly at the packed books. "I can't bring everything with me: I think I'll take just the boxes 1 to 5 -there are my favorite books in them-. The others…I don't know. Maybe I'll leave them here: I doubt there will be much space for us there anyway, so…"

I shrugged and got on my feet, clutching to my desk to prevent me from falling. Lavender made the move to help me, but I shook my head. "No, Lav: I need to do it on my own." I stretched and managed to grab my crutches, which I had left by the bookshelf; I smiled proudly as I straightened my back and walked out without needing help.

Lavender shook her head, laughing softly. "Proud as an eagle and stubborn as a gorilla," she said, teasing me as she and Andrew got up. I stuck out my tongue at her, like I was seven years old, not seventeen, and then I smirked. "I take that as a compliment," I muttered, heading towards Emma's room.

When I got in, I widened my eyes in surprise: there were just four boxes placed by the door in a small pile. Written on them in Tommy's untidy script were respectively the words _Dollhouse_ and _Peluches 1, 2 _and _3_. I stared at Emma in surprise, and she smiled at me, lifting her eyes for a moment from the domino game she and Tommy were playing.

"You-is this everything you are taking?" I asked her, pointing at the four cartons. She nodded absentmindedly. "Yep: I packed my dollhouse, and almost all of the puppets I had on my bed. I thought I couldn't take everything with me, so I chose the things I liked most," she said simply, shrugging.

I couldn't suppress a smile: I had packed seventeen boxes of books before understanding I had to take just the ones I loved most, but she had gone straightly to the solution without thinking twice. And she was just five, for Goodness' Sake!

"You've done the right thing, honey, as always," I said, walking over to her and sitting onto her bed. Her cheeks turned pink, as always when someone complimented her, and she smiled. "Tommy helped me to pack everything, and he wrote on the boxes what we put in them."

The kid smiled shyly and ruffled his blondish hair, looking up at me. "Emma did most of the work, I only wrote on the boxes. And just because she can't write yet, or she wouldn't have let me do anything at all," he said, pushing his glasses further on his nose. Lavender shook her head with a loud sigh.

"Just like her sister," she said dramatically, plopping down on the bed next to me. I playfully nudged her, pouting, and Lavender nudged me back. We both laughed, while Emma and Tommy looked at us in confusion. "Why are they laughing?" the boy asked, frowning. Emma slowly shook her head, chewing her lip. "I don't know, but I don't want to become like them when I grow up."

Lavender and her brothers stayed with us for the whole afternoon, and left just before dinner.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Lavender asked me for the for the millionth time in the last two hours. "Mom would be happy to have you for dinner…" I shook my head and smiled, gently pushing her out of the door. "You've already done more than too much for us, Lav. Don't worry, we'll be fine."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am," she said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes, sighing. "Rest, soldier. See you tomorrow, 'kay?"

"'kay, Mione. Bye!"

I closed the door and sighed, leaning against it for a moment: suddenly the house seemed too big and empty to me.

"Mione, I'm hungry!" Emma's complain made me smile, and I slowly stepped into the kitchen, where the little monkey was sitting on the counter by the sink. I wondered how she had climbed up there, since the wooden surface was as tall as her and there were no out of place chairs she could have used as a stair, but I preferred not to investigate further.

"If you are hungry, you will have to help me: it would be difficult to cook with _these_," I said, swaying slightly my crutches. Emma nodded enthusiastically: she loved to help in the kitchen when Lavender and I baked a cake or something like that. "Perfect: I'll just need the large pan, some pasta and a bottle of tomato sauce, one of those ones onto the lower shelves…"

She didn't even let me finish the sentence: she jumped down and ran to take everything, a huge smile lighting up her face.

Half an hour later we were sitting in the living room, our plates balanced on the arm of the sofa, watching Emma's favorite cartoon, the Disney's Little Mermaid. She absolutely loved it, and I totally agreed with her: it was the one I liked most when I was little.

We ate quickly, and then Emma curled up against my side, resting her head on my shoulder and watching the movie in silence.

"I like this part," she whispered after a while. "When Ariel meets the prince but she can't talk to him." She looked up at me, a faint smile tilting her lips. "You are like the Little Mermaid now: it's like you are not used to have legs, so you can't walk well. But it won't last for long, won't it?"

I smiled back at her, pulling her closer to my side. "No, honey, it won't last long. A few weeks, maybe, but then I'll be as good as new, I promise." She nodded and turned her attention back to the movie, not walking again until it was over.

"Ok, Em, bedtime," I said softly as the end titles of the cartoon began to pass onto the screen. She nodded and got up in silence, bouncing away. I switched off the tv and went to the bathroom we shared to brush my teeth. Then I went to her room, sure to find her already in bed, but she wasn't there. Where was she?

Then a thought hit me, and I slowly walked to the door at the end of the corridor, the one I hadn't had the courage of opening for the whole day. It wasn't closed anymore, so I pushed it open further, while tears welled up in my eyes.

My parents' bedroom, still untouched after all that time: my mother's perfume and make up things on the dresser, one of my father's sweaters thrown carelessly on the chair in the corner, their dressing robes neatly folded at the end of their bed, like everything was normal, waiting for them to come home.

Then I saw her, curled up between their pillows, sobbing silently. I felt a wave of sadness raise in my chest and I stumbled to the bed, pulling her in my arms and rocking her back and forth.

"Shh, honey," I whispered, while tears streamed down my face. "It's ok, Em. It's ok. We are going to be ok." I waited for a few minutes until she calmed down, and then I managed to smile at her.

"How about sleeping here tonight?" I asked softly, stroking her bushy hair. She sniffed and nodded, her blue eyes still shining with tears. I knew what I had to do. I took my mother's nightgown from under the pillow and put it on instead of my pajamas, breathing in the familiar scent of her, a mixture of perfume, shampoo and, well, just _mum_. Emma nestled in my arms, closing her eyes, and I held her close, singing softly her favorite lullaby, one from a Celine Dion's cd my mother loved.

_My precious one, my tiny one,_

_Lay down your pretty head_

_My dearest one, my sleepy one,_

_It's time to go to bed_

_My precious one, my darling one, _

_Don't let your lashes weep_

_My cherished one, my weary one,_

_It's time to go to sleep_

_Just bow your head _

_And give your cares to me_

_Just close your eyes _

_And fall into the sweetest dreams_

_Cause in my loving arms_

_You are safe as you will ever be_

_So hush my dear and sleep_

_And in your dreams_

_You'll ride on angels' wings_

_Dance with the stars_

_And touch the face of God_

_And if you should awake_

_My precious one, my tiny one_

_I'll kiss your little cheek_

_And underneath the smiling moon_

_I'll sing you back to sleep_

By the time I had sung the last line, Emma's breathing had slowed and deepened, and her eyelids had fluttered closed while she drifted off to sleep.

I felt sleepy too, so I closed my eyes with a sigh, relishing the memories of my mother's voice as she sang that same song to Emma in the room next to mine, knowing I would have been listening too. It seemed like ages ago, even if the last time I listened to her lulling Emma to sleep was just the day before the accident.

Things had changed so much since that night…But at least I was alive. A little messed up and barely standing on my feet, but I was alive. And Emma was too, thanking God for my parents' decision to leave her home with our neighbor, an old woman they had known for something like twenty years, since the day they moved in our flat. We were together, and this was enough to me.

Lavender and Tommy came to visit us right after breakfast, and they stayed with us the whole day, helping us packing all of our clothes in two huge suitcases and filling a box with our favorite CDs and DVDs, and with our family albums, three thick, heavy books which contained something like five hundreds -literally- of pictures, from when my parents met at college to my seventeenth birthday, last July. I wanted to take them with me to remember. I would have never admitted it, but I was afraid, afraid of…forgetting. Of forgetting what my parents looked like, or what it felt like when they hugged me.

This way, I could have seen them every time I wanted, happy and joyful as they had always been.

At about five that afternoon the courier boy from DHL came to get the boxes, which we had checked again and again during the day, and I signed the papers he handed me, since I would have been the one to get them once in England. Seeing him loading our things on the truck made me understand how close we were to leaving, and I felt a wave of sadness, along with excitement, well up in my chest at the thought of going away, of leaving everything behind me and have a fresh start.

Emma spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tommy in her room -I knew she would have missed him, since they had been best mates for almost their whole lives-, while Lavender and I talked about everything and nothing at the same time, recalling every laugh we had shared, every prank we had set up when we were kids, every summer spent together here in Seattle or to their house on the beach near Port Angeles.

And then, it was time for them to leave. I would have said goodbye to Lavender the next morning, since she had convinced her parents to take her to the airport with us, but for Emma and Tommy that was the last time they would have seen each other in months. I knew it would have not been simple for them, since they were used to see each other every day almost since they were born.

"Will you come to visit?" Emma asked in a small voice. "For Christmas, maybe?"

Tommy smiled and nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose, and held out his pinkie finger to her. "Pinkie swear," he said as she smiled widely. "Even if you are in England nothing will change: we will always be best friends. I'll send you emails, Lavender taught me how to do so. Hermione could help you reply," he suggested.

"And I promise I'll tell you about every prank we make at school, so when you come back next year and you start first grade you can help us organizing them." Emma nodded happily and entwined her pinkie finger with his.

"Pinkie swear," she said, smiling. She waved at Tommy as he and Lavender went out, and sighed when the door closed behind them.

"I'll miss him, Mione," she said in a low, sad voice. I stroked her bushy hair with my free hand -with the other I was gripping to the doorframe in order not to lose my balance-, and smiled.

"I know, honey, but he'll write you, he promised. And he and Lavender will come to visit us at Christmas, and for your birthday in March." She nodded half-heartedly and followed me to the kitchen. I didn't want to cook, so we had ordered pizza. It was our last meal there, so I wanted it to be special.

We ate in the living room like the night before, watching another cartoon -the Beauty and the Beast this time-, and I put Emma to sleep right after that: we would have had to wake up early the next morning, and I wanted her to sleep enough before travelling for so long. We slept in my parents' bedroom again -we felt better somehow doing so, like we felt them closer there than in the rest of the house-, and the next morning we woke to the bright golden light of the sun shimmering through the thin curtains.

I sat up, surprised: it was a very unusual thing, that sun at the end of September. I took it as a good sign, and I smiled, gently caressing Emma's hair to wake her up. "C'mon, Em: today is the day. We have so much to do! Get up and shine!"

She scoffed and threw her pillow at me. "You are always half dead in the morning, why are you so bubbly today?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"I'm just happy, honey. See? It's sunny today. It's like the world wants to wish us good luck! C'mon, we have to be ready in an hour!" I almost threw her out of bed, and she squealed and laughed, influenced by my good mood.

We ate and got dressed in record time, and at 8.15, when Lavender and her father rang to our door, we were ready to go.

I smiled sadly, pressing my hand on the door of my parents' bedroom for a second before heading into the hall. A huge wave of sadness caught me, causing tears to well up in my eyes, and Emma gently tugged at the sleeve of my coat.

"It's not like we are saying goodbye to Mom and Dad, you know," she whispered, looking at me with her sweet blue eyes. "This is just the place where we used to live, Mione, but they are not here anymore. You don't have to feel sad…"

I looked at her, surprised by her words: when did she become so mature? Jeez, she was just five: how could she sound so adult and…wise?

"Hermione Granger, if you don't come out within ten seconds from nine seconds ago you are going to miss the plane, and I'm officially going to kill you!"

We both smiled at the amused tone in Lavender's voice as she called us from outside the door, and we walked out.

It was a half an hour ride to the airport, and we spent it in silence, each one of us lost in thoughts.

I would have never admitted it, but since the accident I felt uncomfortable every time I got into a car: I sat still, my body stiff against the seat, my hands balled into fists. Every time I saw a truck on the road my heart squeezed with fear, and I instinctively braced myself like we were going to be hit in a matter of seconds. I knew I would have been afraid of them for a very long time.

Time passed in a blur, and then we were at the gates, ready to get onto the plane. Lavender hugged me tightly, and I held her back -as much as the crutches allowed me-, tears welling up in my eyes and threatening to flow out.

"I'll miss you so much!" she said, sniffling. "What will I do without you?"

I smiled, starting to cry along with her. "You'll do everything, as always. But promise me you'll write!" Lavender laughed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Write? I'll send you dozens of emails! Every day! And if you don't write back immediately, I'll fly to England and I'll drag you back here!" We hugged again, and then smiled to each other.

"Now go, before you miss the plane," she said, sniffing. I nodded, taking a deep breath, and waved to Mr Brown, who was waiting a few meters away from us. I handed our tickets and documents to the flight assistant, and went into the gate, with Emma safely clutching my sleeve.

So, it was time. I smiled at her and walked to the plane, feeling nervous, unsure and excited like never before.

It was a 13-hours-long flight to London, so we didn't have much to do. Emma slept for most of the time -it seemed like she could sleep the whole day without interruption- and I took the book I had into my handbag, Sense and Sensibility, one of my favorites. I didn't know how many times I had read it, I had lost count, but I still loved it. I read almost half of it, and then drifted off to sleep almost without noticing.

The next thing I knew, the voice from the speaker was telling us to fasten our seatbelts and get ready for landing. Emma was bouncing happily on her seat, asking me what England would have been like and such things. I didn't know much about it, I had to be honest: I just told her that London was a big, busy city and that Ottery St Catchpole, on the other hand, was a small town surrounded by hills and fields. She didn't look satisfied, though, and questioned me until we got off the plane.

It didn't look much different from Seattle: same grey sky, same chilly wind, same thin mist covering everything in the early morning. Anne White had called me the previous day telling me that there would have been a social assistant to get us from the airport to aunt Elspeth's house, so as soon as we got our luggage I started to look around. I didn't know who I was looking for, so I randomly searched through the crowd for someone who looked like he/she was waiting for someone. After a few minutes I saw a young woman looking around with a worried expression; when I met her gaze her eyes lit up, and she almost ran toward us.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" she asked, almost hopefully. I nodded carefully: was she the social assistant? I looked at her: she was in her early twenties; her honey blonde hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, and her green eyes were at the same time relieved and hesitant. Plus, she wasn't dressed as a social assistant: jeans, purple trainers and a dark coat.

"I'm Elizabeth Firth. They sent me here to accompany you to your new house."

She must had noticed the slightly skeptical look in my eyes, because she blushed slightly. "You know, I have just started to work. They sent me because I am not much older than you, and they thought you might be more comfortable with someone more or less your age."

I smiled at her. "They were right, I think. Sorry, I was just expecting one of those strict women dressed in black, you know, the stereotypical social assistant." She laughed softly, wrinkling her freckles-dotted nose. "Yes, if I were you I would have done the same." Then Emma looked at her from behind my back, and Elizabeth smiled at her. "And you must be Emma, I presume?" Emma chewed her lip, like she was considering whether she should have answered or not.

And then: "You have a lot of freckles," she said, very matter-of-factly. Elizabeth made a funny face. "Well, it's one of the main flaws of us English people: lots and lots of freckles." Emma smiled and nodded, still staying close to my side, her small hand gripping my sleeve.

"C'mon, it's more than an hour to Ottery St Catchpole, and I bet you both are tired from the long journey." I nodded with a half-smile and followed her outside in the car lot.

Her car was small, of a brilliant red, shining even in the dim, grey light of the cloudy morning. We somehow managed to load our huge suitcases and bags in the narrow luggage van and in the passenger seat, and we slipped in the backseats.

"Ok, ready?" asked Elizabeth flashing us a brilliant smile. I nodded, and before I could say something the car jumped forward, zigzagging crazily in the traffic. I stiffened against the seat, and Emma pulled closer to me, clutching her seatbelt.

I watched in horror as the car sped across a traverse like there were no cars in the street. Horns blew behind us, and for a moment the terrific memory of the accident made my head spin. God, she was nuts! I was literally terrified, to the point that I completely ignored the monuments passing by outside the windows: I was too worried about the concrete possibility to crash into a wall, a street light or another car in a matter of seconds.

It was just due to blind luck that we got out of London without hurting ourselves badly.

My relief disappeared quickly, though, when Elizabeth sped further as soon as we got on the almost empty road. The landscapes surrounding us were wonderful -hills, fields and wide skies everywhere, so much different from the grey asphalt and tall buildings I was used to in Seattle-, but it was hard to concentrate on them for more than a few seconds, since they sped past us in a confused blur.

After an hour and twenty minutes of that torture, Elizabeth finally slowed down to a reasonable speed, and both Emma and I sighed in relief.

We were passing through a small, cute town like the ones I had only seen in movies: there was no traffic, and there were no skyscrapers, but just tiny, country-looking detached houses. It looked absolutely…perfect. Idyllic. There was no other way to describe it. I felt my own face light up with surprise, and I smiled: I had barely seen the town, and I loved it yet.

I was surprised, so, when we drove past it, towards the hills.

"Where are we going?" I asked Elizabeth, surprised. She smiled, pointing at an indefinite spot a little ahead of us.

"Your aunt lives a little away from the town. Don't worry, it's right behind this turn." As she spoke, a house came into view. It was large, made out of square stones; the large windows were white, as the embossed entrance door, and the flat roof tiles were dark grey. A thick tangle of ivy clung to the front of the house, making it look like an ancient residence of a noble family and giving something…magical to the whole building. I totally loved it.

We quickly got off the car, Emma running ahead dragging her suitcase behind her, while I followed her, a crutch in one hand, supporting me, and the handle of my luggage in the other. Elizabeth tried to help me, but I refused: I was feeling better yet, and even if it took a bit of an effort to walk with only one stick, I could do that.

We got to the door, and I hesitated for a moment before ringing the small, slightly rusty bell on the right of the door. For a few seconds everything was silent; then I heard slow, muffled footsteps inside, and an old woman opened the door.

She was a few inches shorter than me, and really, really thin. Her face was completely covered in crinkles; her dark brown eyes -the same color of mine and my father's- were a little out of focus, and her smile seemed vague, distracted.

"Hello?" she said, furrowing and sounding slightly confused. Elizabeth smiled, gesturing towards us. "Hello, Mrs Granger," she said brightly. "I'm Elizabeth, the social assistant who came to talk to you last week, do you remember?" The woman nodded, a sparkle of understanding lighting up in her eyes.

"So, these are the girls?" she asked, looking at us with a new attention. "Yes, it's them."

Aunt Elspeth looked at me, slightly crooking her neck, and smiled. "You know, you look exactly like your mother," she said softly. "But you have the eyes of us Granger." I blushed slightly and smiled at the compliment. "And you too, sweetie," she said, looking at Emma. "But your eyes are of the most wonderful blue I had ever seen." Emma smiled back at her, her eyes lit up with curiosity.

"So, I guess I would better go," said Elizabeth, smiling at the three of us. "I will call soon to hear how you are going, ok?" I nodded, waving at her as she jogged back to her car.

"Hey, Elizabeth!" I called before she started the engine. Her blonde head popped out of the window. "How old are you?" I asked, slightly amused: at the airport she had said that she was more or less my age, but she hadn't told me how old she really was. She smiled a brilliant smile, waving. "Twenty one from last week!" she answered, waving and starting the engine. The red car jerked forward with a loud screech, and she quickly disappeared at the end of the road.

"She drives like a drunk monkey," Emma muttered as soon as she was out of view. Aunt Elspeth laughed softly and gestured for us to come in.

"You must be tired after travelling so far. Come and sit down, I'll make some tea."

Emma and I exchanged a happy glance and followed her inside, closing the door behind us.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

"Hey, have you heard the news?"

I sighed as my sister ran into the living room, a wide smile on her face. "No, Gin, what?" I asked, smiling at her enthusiasm. She plopped on the sofa beside me. "Someone has moved with old Mrs Granger. You know those two girls she talked about last time Mum visited her?"

I looked at her with a blank expression, and she scoffed. "Ron, you were there too! She said her two grand-nieces were coming to stay with her, remember?" I recalled something -vaguely-.

"The two girls who were supposed to come from America?" I asked doubtfully. She nodded, her ginger hair bouncing around her happy self. "Yes, them. Well, Mum and I were doing the shopping, and we met Rita-"

I scowled at her. "That gossiping Skeeter goose? Gin, you know she talks just to tan her tongue!"

She laughed at my words, and nudged me in the ribs. "She didn't say anything bad today, Ron. She just told us that she had seen this red car stopping in front of Mrs Granger's house, and these two girls coming out of it."

I threw an annoyed glance out of the window, scoffing. I couldn't stand even hearing the name of that Rita: she was the founder of our local gazette, and she loved gossiping about everything and everyone in town, to the point that many people avoided her purposefully.

"She didn't say anything bad because she had barely seen them. Wait for her to know these two girls, and you'll hear how much meanness will come out of that large mouth of hers," I muttered, shaking my head. Ginny sighed.

"Oh, come on, Ron, you big git! Anyway, I talked to Luna, and we agreed it would be nice to go visit Mrs Granger and welcome the newcomers. Do you want to come with us?"

I looked at the huge amount of undone homework waiting on the table in front of me, and shook my head. "Not this time, Gin, I'm sorry. I have a Chemistry essay due on Monday, and the professor will kill me if I don't do it properly. He would use any excuse to give me detention, and if I get into trouble again, Mum will ground me something, like, _forever_."

Ginny smirked and got up, stretching. "Well, I'll go: I told Luna I would have been at her house at half past sixteen, and I hate being late. See you later, Big Brother!" I waved at her and sank back into the sofa: I loved my sister, but sometimes she was just too much.

I shot a sideways glance at my Chemistry book and sighed, taking it and heading upstairs to my room. It would have been a long afternoon.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, guys, sorry it took so much to update, but I had to study like crazy this week. I didn't know well how to introduce Ron into the story, so I assumed starting to see things from his POV would be a good idea. Guess who's the terrible Chemistry professor he's so afraid of… ^-^ And a big thank you to all of my reviewers: I'm glad you like the story!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Welcome

"So, our father used to spend his vacations here?" I asked with a sad smile. We were sitting in the living room drinking tea, Emma and I curled up on the sofa, and Aunt Elspeth sitting in a small armchair in front of us. She nodded, a faint smile lifting her pale lips.

"Oh, yes: he used to come here right after the end of the school term, and stayed for the whole holidays. This, at least, until he graduated and went to university. I remember he loved spending time wandering around the fields. Sometimes he went out in the early morning, bringing a sandwich and a bottle of water with him, and he came back when it was almost dark, just in time for dinner. Trust me, he was a free spirit: he came and went whenever he wanted, and never did what he was told to. He just went where the wind guided him. Luckily, your mother succeeded in putting some reason in that light, dream-filled head of his. God knows what he would have become without her keeping him to the ground!" Her gaze softened, and her eyes lost a bit of focus, probably lost behind a faraway memory.

It was strange to hear her talking like that about Dad: I would have never imagined him so careless, so different from the responsible, steady _father _character I knew, even if he used to say a lot that he was a bit of a Huck Finn before he met my mother.

"Dad always said that I was a lot like him in this," said Emma, hiding her face in her mug. "Mione, instead, is a lot calmer, like Mom. She thinks before doing anything, and always follows the rules. Dad said she is…re_lf_exive." I smiled at her, ruffling her already messy hair. "It's re_fl_exive, Em. And I'm just responsible, that's all." I sighed, fixing my eyes on the delicate flower pattern printed on the mug I was holding. "Sometimes you have to be; you could never know when you'll have to grow up," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to them. Aunt Elspeth, though, seemed to understand what I meant, and got up, lightly putting a thin, crinkled hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, dears, I'm keeping you two stuck here talking…You must be tired and hungry after that long journey. How about a traditional English breakfast? I can make eggs and bacon. And some toasts." Emma smiled and got up, rushing behind her like an adoring puppy. I laughed softly, shaking my head at her eagerness, and took one of my crutches, slowly heading towards the door they had just disappeared into.

The kitchen was small and neat, with the terracotta tiles on the floor and the walls painted of a bright yellow which reminded me of the sunlight. The cabinets were made of a smooth, honey colored wood, and there was a square table in the middle of the room, with four different chairs around it -one was white and country style, one was blue and plain, one was green and carved with spirals and flowers, and the last one was red and faded, a bit shanty-looking-, all of them with a soft white-and-yellow checked cushion on the seat. "Make yourselves comfortable, dears: it won't take long."

It turned out that Aunt Elspeth cooked wonderfully -a thing I honestly would have never expected-, so we wolfed down everything she put in our dishes, and then leaned back in our chairs, smiling. I hadn't felt so full in months.

"Thank you, Aunt. It was delicious," crooned Emma, patting her swollen stomach. I still couldn't understand how she had eaten three eggs, five toasts and God knows how much bacon without exploding. I got up and took the dishes from the table, heading towards the sink -there was no sign of a dishwasher in the small kitchen, and I wanted to help- but a crinkled hand abruptly halted me, making me gasp, just to take advantage of my surprise and quickly steal the dishes from my unsteady grasp. Aunt Elspeth grinned, her kind chocolate brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I might be old, but I still know a few tricks," she said, running the tap and putting the dishes into the warm, soapy water. I laughed softly, gripping the edge of the table to prevent myself from falling. "You girls can go upstairs and settle down. I've arranged two rooms for you, the first and the second door to the right after you get on top of the stairs-" She stopped, looking at me with a slightly worried expression. "Do you think you can make it to your room?" she asked in a low voice. I nodded, straightening my back and smiling proudly.

"I might be unsteady, but I still know a few tricks," I said, repeating what she had said just a minute before. Aunt Elspeth smiled, nodding. "Clever girl you are. I guess we'll get along really well, dear." I smiled at her and slowly walked to the living room, with Emma following me closely. I stopped at the end of the stairs and looked up, to the top of it. It seemed awfully far from where I was standing.

I took a deep breath and handed my crutches to Emma, sitting one of the lower steps. "Leave these upstairs and come back down, ok?" She nodded and quickly did as I told her to, rushing back by my side. "Hun, can you drag here our suitcases? We have to take them upstairs somehow." I had an idea about how to get our luggage to our rooms: the steps were quite large, perfect for my plan. We managed to put Emma's huge pink suitcase on the first step, and then slowly dragged it further, Emma pulling while I pushed, using my arms to lift myself step over step to the top and then back down again, repeating the process with my suitcase, which was even larger than my sister's.

When we finally got to the top, we were both exhausted, but happy. We exchanged high-fives, and I grinned, grabbing one of the crutches and getting up, the muscles of my legs trembling due to the effort. "Which is mine?" asked Emma, pointing to the two doors to our right. I smiled, lightly placing my hand on the handle of the first one, which bore, written in a neat, elegant cursive, the words 'Rose Room' in the upper section. "Well, I think we'll choose as soon as we'll see them." I pushed it open, and smiled.

The room wasn't big, but it was wonderful. The floor was of the same honey colored wood of the rest of the house, and the wallpaper was of a creamy white with small, delicate patterns of pink rosebuds on it. The furniture -a small wardrobe, a bed, a desk with a chair and a drawer- was simple and elegant, made of white wood. There was a large bow-window on the front wall, with a comfy-looking pale pink cushion on it; the curtains were of the same color, and the bedspread was just a shade darker, embroidered with small flowers matching the ones on the walls. I hated pink, but I would have moved in that room anyway, without thinking twice. Emma looked around with a huge smile on her face, and quickly dragged her suitcase in.

"Mine!" she cried, jumping on the cushion by the window. It gave onto the front yard, and from there she could have seen everyone coming and going on the road and to the house, a thing she loved doing. I smiled and stepped back, laughing. "Don't you want to see the other one?" I asked, pointing at the still closed second door. Emma considered it for a moment, chewing her lip; then she nodded, running back to the corridor. The door was identical to the other, but the words written on it were different: this one said 'Periwinkle Room'. I waited for a moment, then I pushed it open.

I widened my eyes, a smile tilting up my lips as soon as I took in everything. The room was a little bigger than the other, but the furniture was almost the same, with the exception of a carved empty bookcase by the bed. The similarities ended there, though. Instead of the pink which reigned in Emma's room, there everything -the flowers on the wallpaper, the curtains, the cushion of the bow-window, the comforter on the bed- was of a soft, wonderful blue-lilac, the exact slightly iridescent color of periwinkles. There was much more light too, since there were two windows, one giving onto the front yard like the one of Emma's room, and the other showing miles and miles of fields and gentle hills, dotted here and there from small dark spots -houses, I assumed, seeing the thin tendrils of grey smoke lifting from them, barely visible against the cloudy sky-.

I laughed softly, amazed: it was…_perfect_. I couldn't think of anything which could have suited me in a better way than this room: even the one I had back in Seattle, which had been painted and furnished according to my taste, couldn't compete with this one. I flashed a grin at Emma, who was staring at the room in wonder, and dragged my suitcase to the bed.

"Mine," I said with a smirk, plopping onto the soft mattress.

I unpacked my clothes, neatly placing them in the drawers and on the hangers, claiming that space as mine. I placed the two books I had brought with me -_Sense and Sensibility_ and the _Spoon River Anthology_, a poetry book I loved- on the bedside table, and put my laptop onto the desk. I wondered if there was an Internet connection in the house -it was old, after all-, and I mentally made a note of asking Aunt Elspeth later. Then I sat heavily on the bed, closing my eyes and laying down, resting my head on the pillow. I was tired, but I didn't want to sleep; not yet, at least.

I took my iPod and put on the earphones, searching through the songs. I smiled as the sweet, soft violins of Vivaldi's Winter started to play: it was a familiar melody, and one of my favorites. I had a passion for classical music -and especially for Vivaldi, Chopin, Bach and Debussy- since the age of five, when my mother made me hear it for the first time. It was so rich and intricate, so intense it was overwhelming. I was just starting to feel drowsy, when the doorbell rang, echoing in the house. I blinked a few times and sat up, turning off the music.

"Mione, there are two girls at the door!" Emma said brightly, knocking on my door. "I saw them coming from the window!" I sighed and got on my feet, taking my crutches and heading downstairs. Emma ran in the hall, and I followed her slowly, one step at a time, trying not to stumble on my way down. It took a few minutes, but eventually I reached the bottom of the stairs, and I followed the chattering to the hall. Two girls were standing in the doorway, talking to Aunt Elspeth.

They were more or less my age; sixteen, maybe, but I couldn't be sure. One of them was short and thin, with vague light blue eyes and waist-length blonde, wavy hair; the other was a little taller, with straight ginger hair and kind green-brown eyes. "…so kind of you, girls. I'm really glad you came," Aunt Elspeth was telling them, smiling and gesturing to the living room. "Come in, come in." Then she saw me, and smiled. "Oh, dear, these two girls came here to welcome you and your sister. They heard you had arrived and wanted to know you." I smiled, feeling extremely self-conscious as they noticed my crutches. "Hi," I said, trying not to look too embarrassed. The blond girl came first, smiling at me.

"Hi. I am Luna, Luna Lovegood. My father and I live just over the hill." The redhead followed her shortly, linking her arm through hers. "And I am Ginny Weasley. We live just over _the other_ hill."

"It can get confusing, you know: there are something like ten people who live 'just over the hill'," said Luna with a smirk, pulling up her long hair in a messy ponytail.

"But after a while you get used to it and stop confounding. More or less," concluded Ginny, shrugging.

I smiled, feeling instinctively at ease with them. "I'm Hermione. And that little monkey hiding behind the cupboard is Emma, my sister." "I'm not a monkey!" shrieked Emma, her head popping out from behind her hiding place as she scowled at me. Luna smiled. "How cute! How old is she?" I made a face, wrinkling my nose. "Five." Ginny sighed. "Lucky you…I had always wished I had a younger brother or sister," she said, smiling at Emma. "Do you have any other siblings?" I asked her, as Aunt Elspeth led us into the living room. Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, unfortunately. I have _six _older brothers. Ugh. Can you imagine that?" I made a face of sympathy: Emma alone could drive me mad sometimes, but _six boys_? I would have been sent in a bedlam long, long ago. And I would have been happy about that.

"I think they are nice," commented Luna, sitting on the couch. "I mean, Bill and Charlie are two good guys, and Percy too, even if he is a little too pompous sometimes. The twins are very lively, and their pranks are funny, and Ron…well' he's a nice boy. And he's really cute." Ginny scoffed, making a disgusted face. "No comments about my brother, Lu, please. And do I have to remember you that you are going out with Neville?" The blonde shrugged, smiling. "Going out with a boy doesn't restrain a girl from commenting on other boys. I have eyes, you know, and your brother is really-"

"Ok, enough for now," said the redhead, clasping a hand over the other girls' mouth. "There's no way I will ever get involved in a conversation on how good-looking my brother is, ok?" Luna nodded and shrugged, her blue eyes filled with vague smugness. I laughed at her comical expression, sitting with the two girls and laying my crutches on the floor, just within arm's reach.

"I'll go make some tea," said Aunt Elspeth, smiling at the three of us. "So you girls can talk without this old lady eavesdropping your conversation. Emma, dear, will you help me?" Emma nodded and trotted behind her, her dark curls bouncing like springs.

"So, what do you think of our beautiful England?" asked Ginny, still keeping a hand over Luna's mouth to prevent her from speaking. I let my gaze wander on the fields which run for miles and miles out of the windows. "It's wonderful. In Seattle, where I used to live, everything was plain, and grey: the streets, the buildings, the sky…Here instead everything is so…wide. So open. From my room back home I saw the building to the other side of the street; here it feels like I could space endlessly over the sky and the hills." Luna nodded at my words, and finally managed to push Ginny away from her. "It's true. That's why I love this place so much."

"But I bet you are not here for the open spaces, am I right?" asked Ginny, twisting one of her red locks with her fingers. "Are our excellent schools which drawn you here?" I bit my lip, lowering my gaze for a moment. "You don't have to answer, if you are not comfortable with it," said Luna in a kind voice. I attempted to smile at her, shaking my head. "Don't worry, it's just that it's not easy." I took a deep breath, chewing my lip. "My parents died in a car accident a month and a half ago," I said eventually, staring at my hands. "I was in the car with them, and I got hurt, that's why my legs are…like this."

Ginny gasped loudly, and Luna made a small "Oooh," sound, looking at me with sad eyes. I threw just a quick glance at them, before lowering my eyes again, fixing them on my hands. "I'm sorry," murmured Ginny, lightly placing a hand on my arm. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm so damn _nosy_…" I shook my head, lifting my gaze and smiling sadly. "It's not your fault. How could have you known? You were just curious; I would have done the same if I were you." She nodded, and smiled at me. Just then Aunt Elspeth came with three mugs of tea on a tray, and our mood lightened up a bit.

"So, you will attend school here?" asked Luna, sipping her tea. I nodded, grateful for her change of subject. "It seems so. I should start on Monday." Ginny smiled. "I bet you'll like it: it's really cool, considering it's in such a small town. Our dear Hogwarts is one of the best schools around here -really great teachers, you know, even if a bit strict-."

"And it's beautiful too: the building is ancient -it was some kind of a small castle a few centuries ago-, with those huge gardens all around it. You'll love it," added Luna, brightly. I tried to picture a school like the one they were talking about, but I found out I couldn't: the only thing that came to my mind if I thought about _school_ was the anonymous, square building of Rosen Comprehensive I went to in Seattle, with its large, crowded corridors with the endless rows of metallic lockers and its prefabricated walls and floors.

We chatted lightly about school for a while, until Aunt Elspeth came and interrupted us, scowling at the two girls beside me. "Ginny Weasley, your mother just called, asking me if you were still here since it's almost dinnertime and you still hadn't showed up at home! Poor Molly, she was almost panicking!" Ginny looked at the clock, surprised, and jumped on her feet. "Oh, God, is it so late yet? I didn't notice! Mom is going to kill me for sure this time!" she groaned. "I'm sorry, I have to run. But it has been a pleasure to meet you," she told me, smiling.

Luna got up too, stretching like a cat. "Yes, really. Hey, I have an idea: how about I pick you up for school on Monday morning? Daddy gives me a lift, since I don't want to walk for two miles every morning, and it could be difficult for you, especially if it rains -and it _always _rains in England in this season!-." I smiled at her kind offer, and nodded. "It would be great, really. Even because I wouldn't know where to go, and I would end up getting lost without anyone showing me the surroundings." Luna smiled and nodded happily. "So, see you on Monday. I'll be here at seven forty, ok?"

I didn't have time to answer, because Ginny grabbed her hand and dragged her outside. I took my crutches and stumbled to the door, waving at them as they ran across the darkening fields.

"Nice girls, aren't they?" asked Aunt Elspeth, standing by me. I nodded, grinning. "Yep, really. I think we could be friends, Aunt." She nodded approvingly. "Good, my dear. I have known their parents since they were born, you know. Xenophilius Lovegood is a bit vague, but he's the kindest man I ever knew. And the Weasleys too, they are really good people. They were all friends with your father when they were kids." I smiled at the thought: thirty years later, I was becoming friends with the daughters of my father's old friends. A little bit odd, maybe, but I liked it.

We ate quickly, and then Emma and I went upstairs to sleep -we were tired like never before-. I changed in my favorite pajamas -of dark blue flannel, with shimmering silver stars all over it- and went to Emma's room.

She was already in bed, curled up under the covers, her eyes closed. I knew she was still awake just because the small lamp on her bedside table was still on -she couldn't sleep even with the smallest light on in the room-. I sat on the edge of her mattress, gently rubbing her back through the covers. "So, what do you think about England, honey?" I asked her, smiling as she yawned and nuzzled her face against the soft pillow. "I like it. There's a lot of green, and all of this space…And the house is very beautiful. I don't miss home."

I smiled, kissing the top of her head, and switched the light off. "Neither do I, honey. Neither do I."

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

"I'm home! Sorry I'm late, but I really didn't notice what time it was until Mrs Granger came and told me you called!" exclaimed Ginny, rushing inside. Her hair was ruffled, and her cheeks were bright red, almost matching her hair: she had run all the way here, I was sure.

Mum scowled at her, but then she shrugged: she never got really angry at Ginny. If it had been me who came home late, instead, she would have bitten my head off -literally-.

I closed my Chemistry book and smiled at my sister as she plopped down on a chair next to me. "Enjoyed the visit?" I asked, standing up to help Mum setting the table: it was my turn tonight. Ginny nodded enthusiastically, her eyes bright with happiness. "Oh, yes! The younger, Emma, is five, and I had seen her just for a few minutes, but the eldest, Hermione, is really nice. She's seventeen, like you, and I really like her: I think we could be good friends." I nodded, sitting back beside her. "Why did they come here, did she tell you?"

Ginny's face fell, and I immediately cursed myself: I knew I had asked the wrong question. I had a great talent for being inappropriate. "Their parents died in a car crash a few weeks ago, and they came here to stay with their aunt. Poor girls…I can't even imagine how difficult it is for them. You know, Hermione has to use crutches to walk. She was in the car with her parents when it happened, and she got hurt pretty badly. Luna will pick her up on Monday, so she won't have to walk all the way to school."

I nodded, feeling a wave of pity for this unknown girl: losing both of her parents, being seriously injured, and having to move to another Continent…It must had been really hard for her. "I'm home!" My father's voice echoed in the hall, putting an end to our conversation, but later that evening I found myself thinking of that girl I didn't know yet. For some reason, I was curious to meet her.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. I glanced at the old fashioned black alarm clock on my bedside table, and widened my eyes: it was ten thirty! I had slept for more than twelve hours! I got up so quickly my head spun, and I had to lay back down until the room stopped swaying. Then, carefully, I got on my feet and took my crutches, heading downstairs. A happy chatter was coming from the kitchen, sign that Emma was up already.<p>

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" I smiled at Aunt Elspeth's bright greeting, blushing slightly: I usually didn't sleep late, even during weekends. My parents used to say I was an early bird, since I was always the first to wake up in the morning. "I was just telling your sister that maybe we should have checked if you were still alive up there, but I see there's no need for it. Slept well?" I sit down next to Emma, stretching my arms over my head.

"Actually, yes. I hadn't slept like this in weeks." That was true: for the first time in almost two months, I had had no nightmares. She smiled, her crinkled face lighting up. "I'm really glad to hear that, dear. Now eat, come on! I don't know what you usually eat for breakfast, so I made a little of everything."

Effectively, the small table was overflowing of every kind of breakfast food I knew: eggs and bacon, toasts, pancakes, cookies -no, _biscuits_, I corrected myself-, cereals, apple pie, warm bread and cinnamon rolls; and then butter, strawberries marmalade, coffee, milk, orange juice, and many other delicious things. And the smell…

My stomach growled loudly, and we all laughed. Well, it would have been a pity to waste all of that food…I took a plate and filled it with everything, under the satisfied eyes of Aunt Elspeth. If England's air had those effects on me, I should have regained the faculty of walking by myself quickly, to keep up with all of that eating and sleeping.

"Mione, can we go out after breakfast? It's so beautiful outside…and the weather is not bad, see?" asked Emma, looking at me with pleading eyes and pointing at the sky outside the window. Effectively the clear sky, veiled here and there by thin, puffy clouds, was pretty inviting itself, and the fields bathed in the bright sunlight seemed to have just popped out of a painting. Well, why not? As long as we didn't go too far, I was fine with having a walk. I smiled, playfully ruffling Emma's hair.

"Ok, I'm cool with that." She almost jumped out of her seat, and I put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from running straight outside. "But first you have to finish breakfast. And you won't set a foot out of the threshold unless you are fully washed and dressed, ok?" Emma pouted slightly, but it lasted for less than three seconds; she wolfed down the rest of her pancakes and jumped off. "Be quick, I don't want to have to wait for you!" she called, running upstairs. I shook my head, amused by her eagerness, and gulped down the rest of my orange juice: I had to be quick, or she would have annoyed the daylights out of me with her complains about me being 'slow'.

"Is it okay if we have a walk around here, Aunt?" I asked, handing her my dish and empty glass. She smiled at me, her chocolate brown eyes filled with amusement. "Of course you can, dear. This is your home now, and you are almost a woman, you don't have to ask permission to go out. Ah, if your father had just a hundredth of your politeness..!" I smiled back at her, grabbing my crutches and stumbling my way upstairs. "Thank you!" I called anyway, fighting with the stairs. She waved her hand out of the kitchen door.

"You are welcome!"

Ten minutes later I was in the hall, fighting with Emma. "C'mon, put on your coat _now_," I said scowling at her. She crossed her arms over her small chest and scowled back at me. "I don't need it, it's warm!" she complained. I scoffed and handed her the jacket. "Put it on, or you can forget about the walk!" I menaced. She pouted, refusing to listen to me. God, she was so stubborn! "I'm going to count to three, Em, and then I'll keep you locked in here the whole day, I swear. One…" I hid my amusement as her eyes lost a bit of confidence at my words. I hated to act like the bossy big sister, but it always worked in these circumstances.

"Two…" Emma bit her lip, thoughtfully lowering her gaze to her trainers for a couple of seconds, like she was considering her options.

"Th-" She snatched the coat from my outstretched hand and put it on; then she rushed out of the door without saying a word. I sighed and followed her, rolling my eyes.

She squinted in the sunlight and ran to the center of the yard, pirouetting on the spot and smiling. Then she quickly headed towards the back of the house, and I stumbled after her, trying to keep up with her pace. At the beginning it was difficult -my legs were stiff and unsteady, and I tripped over anything, my feet in the first place,- but after a while I gained confidence, and I rested more of my weight on my weary muscles, trying to use the crutches just for small support.

We explored the yard and a part of the hill behind it, Emma jumping around and chattering happily about how much she liked that place, while I did my best not to stumble over something. It felt wonderful, being outside after all those weeks spent at the hospital, and the warm touch of the sun on my skin was a bless. I knew my legs would have been terribly sore the next day, but I didn't care: that freedom felt too good, I didn't want to head back, not yet.

Eventually, though, I started to feel a bit tired, so we came back in no hurry, enjoying the soft, cool breeze which blew over the fields, slightly bending the grass and ruffling our hair. For the time we came back, Aunt Elspeth was setting the table, so we gladly helped her, and then went back out. I was too tired to walk more, so I sat on the stone steps outside the main door, relishing the golden sunlight warming my skin even through the thick fabric of my clothes, reading and throwing curious, amused glances at Emma every now and then. She had found a few old toys in the shed in the backyard -a top, a wooden hoop, of the kind you roll around with a stick, and a skipping rope-, and she was pretty interested in them, since she had never played with such things.

The rest of the day passed quickly, and before I could realize it, it was already time to go to bed. I felt pretty tired, even if I had slept for so long the previous night: the long walk from the morning had really got on me. I put Emma to sleep and stumbled in my bedroom, curling up in my bed and nuzzling my face against the soft pillow. I was sleepy, but also nervous: the next day was Monday. New school, new classmates, new professors…I wouldn't have ever admitted it, not even to myself, but I was a bit scared. A little more than a bit, actually.

But I was also terribly curious about this Hogwarts Luna and Ginny talked about: going to school in a castle…I was pretty thrilled at the idea. Were they serious, or were they just joking?

No, they were serious, they couldn't have set it all up at the moment.

My thoughts became less and less concrete, and I slowly drifted off to sleep, smiling and wondering what it would have been like.

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><p><strong>Ok, guys, sorry it took a whole week to update, but I had been really busy with school stuff (an impossible Biology essay almost drove me crazy).<strong>

**But now we are on Easter Break, so I will have a lot of time to update this week!**

**And a big, BIG thank you to my reviewers! Your posts are wonderful, I'm so glad you all liked my story! **

**And in particular to Dancethroughlife, milan4ever, ceth1986 and 79AvadaWeasleyKedavra, who reviewed every chapter! You are great! ^.^**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, guys, I promised I would have updated a lot this week, so here is a new chapter. I'm working on the next, and I will update it within Sunday, cross my heart and hope to die :P**

**I have a problem with my server and I can't send PMs, so a huge THANK YOU! to all of my reviewers! You are awesome!**

**Enjoy the reading, and reviewreviewreview!**

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><p>Chapter 5: Exploring<p>

The next morning, when I woke up, only a thin sliver of grey light was filtering through the curtains. I yawned and stretched , sitting up. It was early, I was sure, but I didn't know exactly how much. I threw a glance at the alarm clock: quarter past six. Well, I had plenty of time to get ready for school. I got up carefully, holding onto my bed to prevent myself from falling. I had a half-idea of walking to the bathroom without my crutches -it was next to my room, and I could have leaned against the wall if I needed support-, but then I resigned and shook my head: it was useless to try, I knew I still couldn't do that.

I took a quick shower, relishing the warm water waking me up completely, and wrapped myself in a towel, running my fingers through my damp hair and pulling at the knots in an attempt to tame it. I hated my hair, it was always so bushy and ruffled…I sighed and shook my head, towel-drying it and then stumbling back to my room, clutching to one crutch to keep me steady.

I searched through my closet for clothes, and then I realized something: I didn't have a uniform. I sighed heavily, chewing my lip: how could I be so stupid? English schools have uniforms! What the hell was I supposed to wear? I searched through my clothes for something which could resemble one, but I didn't even know the colors of the school. I scoffed, putting on quickly my favorite black jeans and a plain white button-down shirt; then I pulled on my old black trainers and went to wake Emma up. It was almost seven, and she needed to get ready.

I softly knocked at her door before pushing it open. I smiled when I saw she was already awake, sitting at the window and looking at the grey sky outside.

"C'mon, honey, it's your turn to the bathroom. I'll go down and make some breakfast while you get ready, ok? But be quiet: Aunt Elspeth must be still sleeping, we'd better not to wake her." She nodded and trotted quickly to the bathroom, barefoot and ruffled but with a huge grin on her lips. I smiled at her and headed downstairs, toward the kitchen, but before I could reach the door I felt the inviting smell of coffee and bacon coming from it. It couldn't be real…

I smiled and peered inside, grinning when I saw Aunt Elspeth already sitting at the table with a plate of eggs in front of her and a newspaper in hand. She grinned back at me, gesturing towards the chair beside her.

"Good morning, dear," she said kindly as I sat down. "Slept well?" I nodded, still looking at her incredulously. She laughed at my expression, and pushed a plate toward me.

"Why are you so surprised?" she asked, amused. "I just made breakfast." I laughed softly, shaking my head.

"It's just-I thought you were still asleep. I mean, it's really early, and…" Her smile widened.

"Dear, I have gotten up at dawn for my whole life: I can do more before eight o'clock in the morning than in the whole day. Now eat, come on: you are too thin, you have to put some flesh on those bones of yours."

I smiled and happily obeyed, taking a toast and a slice of bacon.

"Aunt Elspeth…" I asked from behind my mug of coffee, "What am I supposed to wear for school? I mean, ain't I supposed to have a uniform or something like that?"

She smiled, folding her newspaper and looking at me with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Dear, how could we buy you a uniform if we still don't know which color it will have to be?" she asked, sounding like I was missing something obvious.

"What do you mean, 'we don't know which color it will have to be'? Isn't it supposed to be the same for all students?" I asked, confused. Aunt Elspeth shook her head.

"Well, dear, as you might have understood the other day when you talked with those girls, Hogwarts is a little different from other schools." I nodded, chewing my lip and listening to her carefully. "You see, we can't buy a uniform yet because we don't know which house you will be in."

I frowned: house? Ok, now it was a little more than odd. Aunt Elspeth laughed softly.

"Well, they call them 'houses', but they are some kind of…groups. They put students who have similar attitudes and skills in them, so that they can attend classes with people they are supposed to get on well with."

I was starting to understand, even if I had to admit I was a little more than confused.

"Don't worry, I spoke with your Headmaster yesterday, and he assured me he will explain everything to you as soon as you get there. Anyway, there are four houses -Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor-, and each of them has its own colors, that's why we have to wait. They'll sort you in one of them today, and this afternoon we will go to the shop and buy your things."

I felt suddenly nervous at the thought of having an interview with the Headmaster, and I swallowed thickly, fidgeting with a lock of my hair. "Will it be difficult? And in base of what do they decide which house to sort you into?" I asked, worried. What if I didn't fit in any of the houses? What if they didn't want me and sent me back?

Aunt Elspeth put a hand on my shoulder with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it will not be that difficult or scary. The Headmaster, Albus, was a classmate of mine when we were in school, and he is a kind man. A bit eccentric, maybe, but he's one of my oldest and dearest friends. And the sorting is just an interview: they'll ask you a few questions, that's all, to decide where to put you." I sighed in relief, and just then Emma came rushing down, dressed up in her favorite strawberry pink hoodie, and attacked the food with an incredible voracity. Apparently, I wasn't the only one eating a lot those days…

She started to chatter happily about how excited she was about her new school and the kids she would have known there, but after a while I stopped listening to her, too curious about the few things Aunt Elspeth had told me about this Hogwarts.

I drank the rest of my coffee and got up, putting the cup in the sink.

"Aunt, what am I supposed to wear over this shirt?" I asked doubtfully before stepping out of the kitchen. "I mean, if I don't have a uniform…" Aunt Elspeth smiled at me.

"A black or grey jumper will be fine, dear." I nodded sheepishly and got upstairs to brush my teeth and get my things.

I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror and sighed: at my school in Seattle I had always been different from the others because of my interest in books and the way I talked, using words people didn't often understand; now I would have been different from the beginning, because of my crutches and the clothes I was wearing. Talking about blending in…

I shook my head and went back to my room, rummaging through my clothes until I found a plain grey v-neck jumper, and quickly put it on; then I grabbed my school bag and went back downstairs.

At seven forty a car horn blew outside of the house, and I smiled. I put on my coat, grabbed my bag and crutches and got to the hall, with Emma following closely.

"Aunt, we're going!" I called nervously. She showed from the kitchen door and smiled at us.

"Good luck, girls! Hermione, we have to buy your uniform this afternoon: can you meet me at Madam Malkin's shop after school? Xenophilius can drop you there when he gets Luna." I nodded and waved at her; then went out.

It was raining a little, but the drops were so tiny and inconsistent I didn't even bother to pull the hood of my coat to cover my hair. It would have been difficult, anyway, since I was already busy trying not to drop the bag off my shoulder every time I bent to lean on the crutches. Luna waved at me, and I smiled at her, getting into the backseat of the car.

"Hi, Luna. Hello, sir," I said sheepishly, looking at the man in the driver seat.

He was quite bizarre, I had to admit it: he was tall and lanky; his tousled hair, the same silvery blonde of Luna's, was shoulder-length and fell around his face like billows of candyfloss. He wore dark trousers and a shirt of an incredible shade of egg-yolk yellow, which seemed oddly bright in the dim, grey light of the rainy morning. His light green eyes were filled of the same vague, slightly sad kindness of Luna's, and they sparkled when he smiled at Emma and I.

"Hello to you. You must be Hermione: Luna came home the other day talking about you, she said you were a very nice girl." I smiled at Luna, who had turned in her seat to look at us. "Thanks," I muttered, blushing slightly.

"Daddy, we should go: it's Hermione's first day, we can't get to school late," Luna said gently, gesturing toward the road. Her father smiled apologetically. "Sorry, love, I'm too much of a chatter," he said looking at her with affection and starting the engine.

It took just a few minutes to get to the kindergarten, and Emma almost jumped out of the car, eager to go. I watched as she ran to join the other kids, under the vigil gaze of several teachers.

One of them, a middle-aged woman with short black hair and kind dark eyes, smiled at her and then looked at me. I was half in, half out of the car, not knowing whether I should have talked to the teachers or not.

"Granger?" she asked, gesturing toward Emma. I nodded quickly. The woman smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry about her, she's in good hands." I smiled back at her. "I'm sure about that. Thank you," I said, relieved, pulling back into the car and shutting the door.

"You really care about her, don't you?" Luna asked, looking at me over her shoulder. I nodded, smiling. "Yes, I do. She's stubborn, cheeky and knows-it-all, and the most annoying thing on Earth, but I love her almost like she is mine," I said softly, smiling at the thought of our little fight about her coat the previous day.

"I think she is adorable," said Luna, very matter-of-factly. I laughed, grinning at her.

"Oh, yes, when she wants she's an adorable little girl, but try to babysit her for a whole afternoon, and then you'll call an exorcist to 'take care of her'!" Both Luna and her father laughed at my words.

"Well, wait to meet Fred and George, the Weasley Twins, as we all call them. Little Emma will look like an angel compared to them. There are no worst pranksters in the whole Hogwarts!"

We chattered lightly for a few more minutes, as Luna's father drove up a hill just out of the town, and when we stopped I widened my eyes.

At first I thought I was dreaming: in front of us there was an ancient castle which looked like it had just popped out of a history book or something like that, with its tall windows and walls of large, smooth grey stone. There were students everywhere around there, chattering or laughing as they walked past the large wooden doors of the entrance. I blinked twice, and smiled, still incredulous. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Luna asked, smiling kindly at me. I nodded, speechless.

"Come on, let's go: it's about time," she added, getting out of the car. I nodded and followed her. "Thank you for the lift, Mr Lovegood," I said, smiling at Luna's father. He waved at us and drove away, wishing us good luck. I swallowed thickly as I faced the huge building, feeling extremely nervous and out of place.

"You don't have to be worried, you know," said Luna, guiding me towards the entrance. I half-smiled at her.

"It's just-I feel like everyone is staring," I whispered. Effectively, many students were glancing at me curiously, eying my crutches and my clothes.

I blushed slightly and turned my attention back to Luna. I noticed she had a simple uniform on -a black skirt, a white shirt identical to the one I was wearing and a dark blue v-neck sweater, plus a black-and-blue tie around her neck-; I had dreaded worse.

"Which house are you in, Luna?" I asked after a while, curious. Luna smiled, smoothing her jumper.

"Ravenclaw, _where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind_," she said, sounding like she was quoting. I frowned, perplexed, and right then we ran into Ginny. The ginger-haired girl smiled at us, joining our conversation.

"It's from the lines written under our school emblem," she explained kindly. "They kind of descript the qualities you need to get into each of the houses." Ginny smiled, pointing at her red jumper and red-and-gold tie.

"I'm in Gryffindor," she said proudly, slightly puffing out her chest. "_Where dwell the brave at heart_. My whole family was placed in it. When I had to be sorted, six years ago, professor Dumbledore was incredulous. 'Another Weasley?' he asked me, widening his eyes. I was eleven then, and I was laughing so hard I almost fell off my chair." I smiled at the thought, and looked around, half shy and half curious.

"What about the other houses?" I asked, looking at the students walking past us in the large corridor. Ginny made a face.

"Well, there's Hufflepuff, _where they are just and loyal_, but everyone knows all Hufflepuffs tend to be a little lazy. And then there's _Slytherin_." She spit it out like it was the name of a disgusting bug, and it caught my interest. "Slytherin?" I asked, doubtfully. Luna nodded, and Ginny sniggered loudly.

"Yes, Slytherin. _Those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends. _Every single student placed in Slytherin is an arrogant, big-headed, prejudice-filled, mean bastard. No one can stand them, they are the worst folks here. Always messing around and bullying everyone just to hurt people. I hate them."

I laughed softly. "Well, I hope I won't be placed in Slytherin, then." Both Luna and Ginny smiled at me.

"Oh, we wouldn't mind if they put you in Slytherin. In fact, you could teach those bloody gits a few things about _manners_," said Ginny lightly. Just then the bell rang, and the girls ran away.

"Sorry, we have Chemistry in first hour, and the teacher will kill us if we arrive late. Good luck, Hermione! See you later!"

I waved at them as they ran away, feeling suddenly nervous again. I sighed and looked around, trying to find the Headmaster's office. After a few minutes, though, I started to feel lost: that place was huge! I sighed and considered the idea to knock at one of the classrooms' doors and ask for directions, even if it would have been terribly embarrassing. I took a deep breath and lifted my head to knock, but a booming voice startled me, almost making me jump.

"What are yeh doin' round here all alone?" I widened my eyes at the sight of the man: he was almost two meters tall, and huge, with tousled black hair and a long beard. He wore a coat so large I could have used it as a camping tent, and it was so long it almost brushed the stone floor. I looked at him sheepishly, feeling even smaller than usual. He observed me for a few seconds; then he smiled.

"Ah, yeh must be a new student! Only new students look so lost." He had kind, shiny black eyes which crinkled and sparkled when he smiled. "Yeh are looking for the Headmaster's office, aren't yeh?" I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak. "C'mon, I'll show yeh the way," he said, patting my shoulder with a large hand.

"Oh, I haven't introduced meself: I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the keeper o' the school," he said brightly, guiding me through the corridors. "But all students here call me just Hagrid." I smiled at him. "I'm Hermione Granger." Hagrid looked at me in surprise.

"Granger? Like, Mark Granger? The Mark Granger who came to stay with ol' Elspeth when he was a kid?" I nodded, a little wave of sadness squeezing my heart. "Yes. I'm his daughter." Hagrid laughed.

"I remember yer father: we used to be friends when we were young. Good lad he was, very good lad. Always lost in his thoughts, but kind like no 'un else." I smiled: everyone seemed to like my father there. I was happy all of his old mates remembered him that way.

"Well, this is Dumbledore's office. I guess I'll see yeh round school, Hermione. Good luck with yer sortin'!"

I hoped all of those good lucks would have some effect…I tentatively knocked at the tall wooden door, and waited for a few seconds.

"Come in," said a kind voice from the inside. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open with my shoulder, not daring loosening my hold on my crutches when my legs were so shaky from nervousness.

The office was small, and filled with the strangest items: scales, phials of various shapes filled with brightly colored fluids, sextants, alembics, and dozens of other things I didn't recognize, some in brass, some in pewter, some in what looked like silver.

The man sitting at the desk was just as unusual as all of those things around the room: he was tall, thin and old, with silvery hair and beard which were both long enough to tuck into his belt; his nose was long and crooked, as though it had been broken several times, and his blue eyes were bright and sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

Ok, Aunt Elspeth had told me that the Headmaster was a _little eccentric_, but this man was the strangest thing I had ever seen in my whole life!

I waited for a moment, hesitating on the threshold. "Miss Granger, I presume?" he asked politely, smiling at me. I nodded. "Yes, sir," I said, trying to straighten my back.

"Have a seat, have a seat."

I stumbled forward and sat down, putting my bag and crutches on the floor. "I heard you have arrived not long ago from the States," he said kindly. I nodded again, trying to smile. "I know the sad circumstances which brought you here, and I'm very sorry for your loss."

I looked at him, surprised: he _actually _looked sad. Much more than all of those hypocrites at the funeral.

"Anyway, Miss Granger, I can't help being impressed by your school results: high marks in every subject, top student of your year, winner of a national debate competition…You must be a very clever girl." I blushed slightly at his words.

"I just like to learn," I said honestly, fidgeting with my hands. Back at school people said I did all that studying just to feel above the others, but there was no competition in what I did. I just liked it. The professor nodded, smiling.

"I believe you, Miss Granger, I believe you. Now, do you know about the particular system we adopt at this school?" I chewed my lip nervously.

"Not exactly," I admitted, lowering my gaze. "Just a few things other students told me." He nodded and turned, pointing at the large emblem hung on the wall behind his desk.

"You see, Miss Granger, this is Hogwarts' symbol."

It was a shield divided in four section, each of which had a different animal in it.

"The crow represents the House of Ravenclaw; the snake the house of Slytherin, the badger is for Hufflepuff, and the lion is for Gryffindor. Each of our students is, we could say, _sorted_ in a house, in base of their specific skills, so that they can belong to a group of people with similar characteristics."

I nodded, starting to understand. There was a parchment hung below the emblem, with some kind of poem written on it.

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindor apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

It was really strange, but I liked it. I just wondered how they could be sure whether they put you in the right house or not.

"So, Miss Granger, we already know you have a quick intelligence and a brilliant mind, and you love learning. Any house would be happy to welcome you, but…I don't know…You would fit well in Ravenclaw, but I think there could be more…" The Headmaster looked at me thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, after a while, he spoke again.

"You see, Miss Granger, I think that it needs a great strength to face up to a tragedy like the one you had just been through; and I think that it needs even more to accept to move to another Country, leaving your home, just to stick with your loved ones." He knew of the situation, of course. I wondered if he had somehow talked to Anne White and acknowledged the fact that I had rather left everything I had behind than being separated from Emma…

"You are brave, I can see it in your eyes, and in the way you have straightened yourself when you came in my office. And also proud, I would say, by the way you hold yourself. So, I think it leaves me just one choice…"

I considered it quickly: strength, bravery, pride…There was only a house which asked for those things. I smiled, knowing the answer yet.

"I'm pleased to put you in the house of Gryffindor, Miss Granger. I have the feeling that you will bring great honor to it." He outstretched a hand, and I shook it, smiling.

"Thank you," I said, feeling light and, somehow, _happy_. Like I knew it was a right thing for me to be sorted in that house.

There was a soft knock at the door, and a woman came in. She was tall and thin, and pretty severe-looking. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her dark grey eyes were studying me behind her square glasses.

"Oh, Professor McGonagall, I was about to come for you," said the Headmaster, standing up. "You see, this young lady," he gestured toward me, "Has just been sorted in your house. A brilliant young lady, if I may say, a great addition to Gryffindor." The woman looked at me, a small smile tilting up her lips.

"You are Miss Granger, I presume. We were informed of your arrival. I'm Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor. I teach English here at school." I immediately lit up: English was one of my favorite subjects, I absolutely loved it.

"So, Professor, I think you should show Miss Granger her surroundings, and meanwhile explain her our rules and such. You are much better at this than I am: I would end up talking about our sport teams, or the choir, or about how good are our cooks," said the Headmaster, sitting back in his chair. Professor McGonagall smiled and gestured towards the door.

"Shall we go, Miss Granger?" she asked.

I nodded, throwing my bag on my shoulder and grabbing the back of the chair to support me as I got to my feet and took my crutches. The professor widened her eyes a little as she saw them, but, thankfully, she didn't say anything. I was tired of people pitying me: poor girl this, poor girl that…I hated it, and I hated them when they thought I couldn't do things by myself.

"Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore," I said, politely bowing my head and following Professor McGonagall out in the corridors.

"You see, Miss Granger, while you are here at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour."

I listened to Professor McGonagall carefully as she led me through the corridors.

"Disobeying rules also involves detention, which you will serve here at school, under the supervision of a teacher, a Prefect or one of the Heads Students. I think it's not necessary to mention that every form of violence is severely prohibited."

We passed a tall wooden door, and Professor McGonagall gestured toward it. "That is the Great Hall, where you will have lunch with your classmates at the Gryffindor table." I peeked inside as we walked by, and I saw a large room with tall windows and four long tables.

The Professor also showed me the infirmary, the library -which had the most impressive collection of books I had ever seen- and the football pitch, just behind the castle.

The more I saw, the more bewildered I became.

She also told me about the history of the school: it was a castle during late Mid Age, and it was converted to a school in the early 1800s. Hogwarts had been there since then, with the tradition of the houses and everything else.

Finally, after a hour or so of leading me around, Professor McGonagall stopped by her office and handed me a few papers.

"So, Miss Granger, this is a map of the school, in case you get lost -a thing that can happen frequently during the first days-, and this is your schedule. Lessons start at eight o'clock every morning and end at four pm."

"There is an hour of break for lunch from noon to one pm; you can spend it in the Great Hall, in the gardens, or in the library if you prefer, but I shall remember you that you are not allowed to bring food in the area. As a seventh former, you may choose among a few possible classes for your fourth and seventh hour."

I looked at the form she was holding: English, History, Trigonometry, Chemistry, Latin. I had attended all of those classes in Seattle, and I had top marks in all of them, so it shouldn't have been a big deal.

The optional classes, though, were pretty unusual: Botanic, Zoology, Art Languages, Astronomic Studies. Back in my old school the choice was between Gym or a free period of studying! All of those classes seemed so interesting…I would have liked to take them all -a thing I obviously couldn't do-.

"I think I'll sign up for Botanic in fourth hour and Art Languages in seventh," I said after a few seconds of considering my possibilities. Professor McGonagall seemed pleased, and wrote something down on another form; then she smiled, handing me a third paper.

"This is a list of the textbooks and the other items you will need; you can find everything downtown. Now, go: third hour is about to start, and you might not want to arrive late. Good luck, Miss Granger." I smiled, muttered a "Thank you," and went out in the empty corridor.

I drew in a deep breath and chewed my lip: third hour was Trigonometry, in classroom eleven. I looked around doubtfully, not knowing where to go, and after a few seconds I gave up, laying my crutches against the wall and unfolding the map Professor McGonagall gave me. I looked at it for a while, carefully memorizing the way; then I put it back in my bag and stumbled along the corridor.

I noticed there were no electric lights, but only lanterns and torches hung at a regular distance on the stone walls. The quivering light of the flames created faint shadows in the corner, adding to the mystery of that place. I smiled, enjoying the silence of the empty corridors and keeping an eye on the brass numbers hung on the dark wooden doors of the classrooms.

Classroom 14…13…12…Finally I got to classroom eleven, and I leaned against the wall opposite to the door, waiting for the bell to ring. I was nervous, I had to admit it: I didn't know anyone there, except Ginny and Luna, but they were not in my year; I would have had to face a whole classroom filled with people who would have asked questions and stared endlessly.

My stomach flipped backwards at the thought, and I felt nausea crawling in my stomach. I clenched my teeth and straightened my back, fighting it back. I was a Gryffindor, I would have been worth of the name of my freshly joined house. _If they stare, you stare back, _I told myself, just as the bell rang, echoing in the corridors. After a few seconds the students started to get out of the classroom, and as soon as everyone seemed to be out I walked in, trying to look calm and determined, though my knees were buckling from nervousness.

At first, when I walked in, I didn't see anyone. Where was the teacher? I would have seen him if he came out with the students…

"You are Miss Granger, I presume?" asked a high-pitched voice. I looked down, surprised, and saw a small old man standing by the teacher's desk, looking kindly at me. The reason I hadn't seen him before was because he was short. And I don't mean normally short, but _short_. So short the top of his head was levelled with the desks. He had a long white beard -it seemed to be a pretty common thing among the teachers at that school- and crinkled, sparkling blue eyes. I nodded with a half-smile.

"Yes, sir, I am." He smiled at me. "I'm Professor Flitwick," he said, puffing out his chest proudly. "Trigonometry teacher and Head of the house of Ravenclaw. May I ask where you have been sorted?" I chewed my lip for a moment.

"Gryffindor," I said finally, with a small hint of pride. The Professor nodded happily.

"Good, good. Now, have a seat. Your classmates should arrive here in a few minutes." I gave him a small nod and sat in a desk by one of the tall windows. It was raining heavily, and the stained glass was covered in shiny cobwebs of raindrops which shifted every few seconds as the water ran down, creating intricate patterns.

It was warm in the classroom, due to the fire burning in the large fireplace in the back of the room -evidently there was no electricity in the castle, but I had to admit that I liked it; besides, the fire was much more effective than the average heating-, so I took off my grey jumper, folding it neatly on the back of my chair. Luckily, my clothes were not much different from the ones of the other students -black trousers or skirts, and white shirts-; without the jumper I could almost pass as one of them. Almost.

I sighed, taking a pen and a notebook from my bag, and began to doodle absentmindedly on the blank sheet of paper, waiting for my personal little Hell to break loose.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

When I opened my eyes, my room was almost dark, lit only by a dim, grey glow. It looked like it was awfully early -dawn, maybe-, so I rolled over in my bed, determined to try to sleep a little more.

Just then I focused on the hands of my watch, and I jumped up immediately: eight fifty! How could I sleep so late? And why hadn't anyone woken me?

I ran to the bathroom, quickly washing my face an brushing my teeth; then I jumped into my school uniform, cursing under my breath.

"Bloody hell, one would think that with six siblings and both of your parents in the house someone would wake him, instead no, no one does! Hell, hell, hell!"

I threw my golden-and-red Gryffindor tie around my neck, not even bothering to tie it together; pushed a jumper over my head and stumbled downstairs, grabbing my schoolbag in the process. My mother, who was in the kitchen washing the dishes, looked at me in shock.

"Ron? What are you doing here at this time?" she asked, too surprised to get angry at me. "I slept in, no one woke me up! I'm late!" I said, breathless, tripping and clutching to a chair before I fell.

"Dad is gone yet, isn't he?" I asked with a grimace. I saw the slightly worried expression on my mother's face and groaned, rushing to the door. No lift to school, I should have had to make it on foot.

I put on my old coat and grabbed a large umbrella, which would have -hopefully- partially shielded me from the pouring rain. "Bye, Mum!" I called, running out. Bloody hell, it was freezing! And it was a two-and-a-half-miles-long run to the school. Still cursing my brothers, I took a short cut through the hills, running as fast as I could. I was a good runner, thanks to all the sport I was making lately, but it took me more than half an hour to get to school.

By that time I was breathless, and I had mud all over my shoes. I shrugged and stumbled in, looking at the big clock in the Entrance Hall: nine forty. Professor Binn, the History teacher, would have never let me in the class at that time; so I sat down on the cold floor, breathing deeply to calm the ragged beating of my heart.

Then I rummaged through my schoolbag and ripped a blank sheet from my notebook, attempting to clean a little my already battered trainers, without much success. Well, at least they didn't look two blocks of mud anymore. I went to my locker, stuffing my coat and umbrella inside it and taking my Trig book; then I waited patiently in the empty corridor.

When the bell rang, a few minutes later, I sighed and ran to classroom 11. Professor Flitwick would have killed me if I arrived late for the third time in a row. I stopped in front of the door, pushed my jumper into the bag and opened it, peeking inside. Seemed I was the last one -as always-. I smiled apologetically.

"Morning, Professor," I muttered, grinning. Professor Flitwick sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Come in, Mr Weasley," he said, shaking his head dramatically. "Glad you decided to join us." I felt my ears turning slightly pink, but I nodded and headed to my usual seat, the last desk by the window, scowling at Harry, who was sniggering from his seat, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Then I saw her.

She was sitting at the desk in front of mine, and she was looking down, doodling on her notebook. Her hair, of a shiny chestnut color, was tousled and bushy, and it fell on her shoulders and back in a gorgeous dark waterfall of ringlets; she was small and thin, the pale skin of her hands stretched over her slender bones, and she was slightly hunched in her seat, like she was trying to hide, or to go unnoticed. Like it was possible not to notice her…

I saw no tie around her neck, no indications of the house she was in, like she belonged to none.

Or like she had just been sorted.

I knew she was the new girl, I had never seen her around here.

I slipped in my seat and eyed her curiously, hoping she would turn a little so I could see her face, her eyes. I was curious: which house was she in? We had Trigonometry with Ravenclaw and a few Hufflepuffs, so she couldn't be a Slytherin. She didn't look like a Hufflepuff, though -for some reason everyone from hat house was bubbly and outgoing, and by the way she was sitting, occupying the less space possible in her desk and looking almost like she was trying to blend in with the surroundings, I assumed she wasn't-.

Something light hit my arm, and I quickly took the small ball of paper, unwrapping it. I immediately recognized Harry's messy, sharp handwriting.

_What r u staring at?_

Hell, so he had noticed.

_Nothing, _I scribbled in a hurry, sending the note back to his owner.

After a minute it came back to me, and I scowled at Harry: if Flitwick caught me exchanging notes with someone, he would have sent me to detention without thinking twice. And then Mom would have killed me for good. I read quickly, and I blushed slightly.

_New girl's pretty_.

I sent Harry a venomous glare and hid the note under my desk, pretending to follow the lesson, even if I didn't understand anything Flitwick was saying. My gaze wandered back to the new girl, and I smiled. She was looking out of the window, apparently bored by what the professor was doing, and I saw her scoff slightly, drumming her fingers on her desk. Maybe she wasn't in Ravenclaw, either: all of those crow-students were obsessed with 'the importance of knowledge' and such codswallop, and they would have never gotten distracted during a lesson of their Head.

I gave up trying to listen to the teacher's lesson and spent the rest of the hour watching her, wondering again in which house she had been put in. I hoped she was in Gryffindor. I really hoped she was in Gryffindor.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Great Day

The students started to come in, and I kept my eyes stubbornly fixed on my notebook, not raising them even once. I could feel their gazes on me, and I could hear low whispers behind me, but I ignored it all, trying not to blush.

Then the lesson started, and I relaxed a bit as the Professor drawn my classmates' attention to him. Only then I allowed myself to throw a quick glance at the others, trying to go unnoticed: there were several Ravenclaws, a few Gryffindors and two Hufflepuff girls who sat in the back, chatting in a low voice and ignoring the fact that the lesson had already started. I turned my attention back to the Professor, and sighed: I had already done that topic back in my old school.

Just then the door opened, and a boy stuck his head inside, smiling.

"Morning, Professor." Professor Flitwick sighed and shook his head, looking exasperated. "Come in, Mr Weasley. Glad you decided to join us."

From his tone of voice it sounded like he was used to the boy's delays. Had he said Weasley? So, he was one of Ginny's older brothers. I looked at him as he blushed, his ears turning of an impressive shade of pink, and went to his seat, somewhere in the back. He was tall and lanky, his mass of dark red hair terribly ruffled, his Gryffindor tie hung carelessly around his neck; his eyes were dark, of a stormy colour I couldn't exactly figure out.

I quickly looked down before he could see me, almost hiding as he came closer and sat at the desk behind mine, and began to doodle again, feeling slightly bored. I ended up looking at the rain outside the window, so heavy it covered everything in a grey, shiny blanket, and sighed in relief when the bell rang, letting me free. I quickly collected my things, put on my jumper and fidgeted with my bag; then I got to my feet, keeping my eyes low as I took my crutches.

"Hi."

I looked up, surprised that someone was actually talking to me.

Two identical girls were standing in front of me, smiling kindly. They were a few inches taller than me; they had pin-straight, waist-length black hair, dark eyes and olive skin. The only difference was the colour of their uniforms: one was dressed in the blue and black of the Ravenclaws; the other in the red and gold of the Gryffindors.

"I'm Padma," said the first.

"And I am Parvati," echoed the other. "And you are…"

I smiled tentatively. "Hermione. Hermione Granger." They both smiled wide.

"Pleased to meet you," they chorused. Then Parvati laughed.

"Don't mind about that, we often say things at the same time," she said, while her twin -they were twins, there was no doubt about that- grinned.

"So, where are you headed now?" she asked. I thought about the timetable McGonagall had given me, trying to remember.

"Botanic, in the Greenhouse." I had no clue about how to reach it, of course.

"I have the same class," said Padma, gesturing towards the door. "This way, I'll show you where it is. It's easy to get lost in this place." I smiled gratefully and followed her and her sister in the corridors.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

By the end of the hour, I had decided to try and talk to her: I was so damn curious…I watched her as she struggled to get on her feet and took her crutches, her bag slumped on one shoulder.

I made the move to get up, but before I could get on my feet the Patil twins got to her, introducing themselves and getting her attention. I eavesdropped their conversation as I put my battered Trig book in my schoolbag, as slowly as possible.

"So, where are you headed now?" they asked her, cheerful as always. Jeez, those girl made me want to kill them sometimes: how could _anyone _be so happy on a _school Monday morning_? It was unnatural!

She hesitated for a second before answering, like she was thinking about it.

"Botanic, in the Greenhouse."

And with that every hope to talk to her for the next hour vanished: I had Zoology now, in the other wing of the castle. After another minute or so she left with the girls; I waited for a few seconds, then I went out as well, hurrying to get to Zoology in time: Professor Caporal hated me enough not to tolerate another delay of mine.

"Trig was pretty interesting today, huh?" Harry said, sniggering and catching up with me. I scowled, shoving him with just enough force to make him stumble.

"Yeah, mate, wonderful," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You and your stupid notes! If Flitwick caught me, he would have given me detention for the whole month!" Harry shrugged, fussing with his hair, a nervous habit he had gotten from his father.

"Well, at least we would have had it together. I mean, detention alone is a bore, but when it's the two of us? Brilliant!" I scoffed, but smiled.

"Anyway, did you talk to her?" I pretended to ignore who she was talking about.

"To her who?" I asked casually, looking out of the tall windows. Harry made a sound which was in between a snort and a laugh, and nudged me.

"The new girl, who else?" I shrugged, getting into classroom 23 and slipping in my seat.

"Nope, Patil twins got her first and dragged her to Botanic."

Then the lesson started and we quit talking, but I smiled: next hour was lunch, and I would have had all the time to make up an excuse and talk to her.

* * *

><p>When the bell rang, I felt almost disappointed: the lesson had been amazing! The Botanic teacher, Professor Sprout, was really great -it was obvious that she loved the subject she taught-, and I enjoyed every minute of that hour.<p>

I took my time in gathering my things, waved at Parvati as she went out and then stood up slowly, trying not to stumble on a vase or something.

I followed the stream of students to the Great Hall, but before I could even put a foot over the threshold two pairs of hands grabbed me, making me jump.

"Sorry," said Ginny, smiling apologetically.

"We were looking for you," added Luna, seraphic as always, showing me an overflowing tray of food.

"We were going to sneak our lunch into the library to eat there, want to join us?" asked Ginny, pointing at the corridor to her left. "You know, in the Great Hall we have to sit tour house's table, so we can never mix -a stupid rule, I must say-. So we always go somewhere else."

I nodded, relieved: the Great Hall was so crowded…I didn't want so many people to stare at me the way my classmates had. So we snuck up silently in the library, settling to a table hidden behind a massive bookcase and chattering in a low voice in order not to get caught by Madam Pince, the 'monstrous librarian', as Ginny called her.

"So, which house had they put you into?" asked Luna, looking thoughtfully at her sandwich before taking a bite from it. I smiled, straightening my back with pride.

"Gryffindor."

Ginny grinned, throwing her arms in the air. "Yes! I knew you were one of us!" she cheered in a loud whisper, laughing. Luna gave her a funny look and smiled as well.

"You are lucky," she told me, picking a small bottle of water from the tray. "Everyone says Gryffindor is the best house here. Your aunt was a Gryffindor, I think. And Professor Dumbledore was, too." I smiled, chewing my sandwich quickly.

"At first Professor Dumbledore wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, but then he changed his mind. Said I fit better where I am,' I explained, shrugging. "I hope he was right," I added in a whisper, looking down.

"Dumbledore is never wrong, trust what he told you," said Ginny kindly, nudging me. "That man is incredible: it's almost like he can foresee things. He is brilliant, even if a little strange. People say he is some kind of wizard," she added, laughing at her own words. I grinned, shaking my head.

"Well, in a castle like this I could expect anything, even that the Headmaster is a wizard!"

We all laughed loudly, and then we almost ran away, half stumbling, half bending to hide behind the shelves, as Madam Pince came to see who had caused all of that noise.

We ended up in an empty classroom, still laughing at our quick escape. "Oh, time is almost up," said Ginny, disappointed, looking at her watch.

"What do you have next?" Luna asked me, her large blue eyes alight with curiosity. I took my schedule from my bag.

"Hmm…Chemistry, classroom 5." Ginny made a face.

"Ugh…You'll better watch yourself," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Snape is really hateful. He is the Head of Slytherins, and favours them openly. Plus, he hates us Gryffindors. He takes advantage of every single slip to take points away from our house: he wants Slytherin to win the House Cup, and now we are in the lead, so he is even more venomous than usual." I sighed, putting the paper back in my bag.

"I'd better go, if things are like this: he'll hate me anyway, but I don't want to risk detention on my first day for being late." Both Ginny and Luna nodded sympathetically.

"Good Luck." I gave them a half-smile.

"Thank you. See you later!"

I found out that classroom 5 was in the dungeons -a pretty strange thing, I thought-. It was colder than the rest of the castle, and I pushed the sleeves of my jumper further on my hands, shivering slightly.

The corridor was narrow, and the lack of natural light bothered me, making me wish I was still upstairs, in the bright library.

The classroom was barely lit by a few torches, and there was no fireplace there -it must have been freezing in winter-; there were various alembics of different shapes aligned along the walls, and a large closet which held dozens of tools and bottles filled with coloured fluids.

To be honest it was a bit creepy, but it matched perfectly the teacher. He was tall and scrawny, with black, shoulder-length greasy hair and an incredibly long nose; his eyes were black and cold, piercing like daggers, and his lips were thin, pursed in a tight line. As if that wasn't enough, he was completely dressed in black, reminding me of a giant bat.

I swallowed thickly and stepped in as soon as the bell rang, my shoulders straight and my head held high. If he was the Head of Slytherin, I could only guess what his students would have been like.

"You must be the new student," said the Professor coldly, looking at me without any kindness. I nodded once.

"Yes, sir." He pulled his upper lip in what resembled a snigger.

"And in which house have you been sorted in?" I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

_He is going to dislike me anyway, so… _

"Gryffindor, sir," I said eventually. His snigger became more pronounced.

"Another one of those, huh? You are all the same: noisy and lazy, all arrogance and no wit."

I had to put every ounce of my self-control not to yell at him. The prejudiced bastard! Ginny was right when she said he hated Gryffindors! But I would have proved him he was wrong.

I nodded once, coldly, and sat in one of the double desks in the front. I was the best of my class in Chemistry, I would have proved him who was _all arrogance and no wit._

This time I kept my head high as my classmates came in, quick and silent. I recognized a few Gryffindors from the previous classes, and I had to stifle a groan when I saw the green-and-silver ties of the others: Slytherins. Perfect, we had to share the class with the teacher's favourites.

I saw the ruffled redheaded Weasley I had Trigonometry with -I had forgotten to ask Ginny which of her brothers he was, though- slipping in the desk behind mine, and I was actually surprised when the boy he was talking with, another Gryffindor with jet black hair sticking in every direction, round glasses and bright green eyes, sat beside me.

"Hi," he said in a low voice, taking the textbook out of his backpack and smiling at me. "You are the new girl, right?" How many times will people ask me that question throughout the day? I sighed and nodded, fidgeting with the sleeves of my jumper.

"I'm Hermione." He grinned.

"I'm Harry." After a few seconds he asked, "Which house had they put you in?"

I grinned back, pointing at the rampant lion embroidered on his jumper.

"Gryffindor." His smile got wider.

"Well, so welcome to you. It's always good when another fellow Gryffindor joins us. We should initiate you, or something like that. I'll talk with the others later and-"

Suddenly Snape called the class' attention, and he shut, pushing the book towards me so we could share. I mouthed a 'Thank you' and took my notebook, determined to show the Professor who Hermione Jean Granger was.

"So, can someone name all of the noble gases in crescent order of atomic number?"

I looked up, smiling: I knew this one. It was easy, but no one seemed willing to answer, so…My hand shot up immediately, almost automatically. Snape looked around the silent room with his cold eyes, and in the end he focused on me, almost reluctantly.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

I took a deep breath and started at top speed: "Helium, 2; Neon, 10; Argon, 18; Krypton, 36; Xenon, 54; Radon, 86."

Then I smiled a little, glad to remember it so well. Snape's lips, instead, pursed in a line so tight they almost disappeared.

"Good show of your _great_ brain, Miss Granger. But we are here to learn, not to show-off. If we were, I would have surely put you in my place to teach."

His voice dripped sarcasm as he spoke.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your arrogance."

I widened my eyes, and this time I couldn't restrain myself.

"But-why? I gave the right answer!" I protested, that damn fiery temper of mine coming out in the less opportune situations.

Snape narrowed his eyes, and I almost -almost- flinched, taken aback by his suddenly hate-filled expression.

"Ten more points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your insolence. Next word you speak, you will have detention for the whole week."

I shut up and looked down, my cheeks burning with shame and my eyes threatening to water. I bit my lip to stay in silence, and saw Harry scribbling something with his pencil on the margin of his book.

_Don't mind, he is a bastard. _

I smiled and nodded, even if I felt pretty depressed. I had the suspect I wouldn't have had great marks in this subject.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

That bastard! Ok, he hated us Gryffindors, but this time he was truly unfair: what had she done to earn such a treatment? And those 20 points he took from us!

I watched as she looked down, her cheeks flushed, biting her lip -probably to restrain herself from protesting more-. Her shoulders, though, stayed straight, like she was trying to stand up anyway, if not with her words or eyes, with her posture. She was a though little thing, I had to admit it.

After a while the bell rang, and I stood up, determined to talk to her this time; I failed, though, because she quickly grabbed her bag and almost ran out of the room, stumbling slightly on her crutches. I huffed: if it wasn't for the fact that she didn't even know me, I would have thought that she was avoiding me.

"Found out anything about her, mate?" I asked Harry as we walked out. He smiled, ruffling his already messy hair.

"Nothing, apart from the fact that she is in Gryffindor. She didn't talk at all -well, no one does in Chemistry-. Apart from those hateful Slytherins, but they are his beloved little snakes, so it doesn't count," he said, shrugging.

"Well, at least she seems to fit well in our house. Did you see how she protested when Snape reacted so unfairly? Every Gryffindor who can be called so would stand up to a Slytherin, whether he is a teacher or not!" Harry shook his head, laughing.

"Right! We got -how many?- at least twenty detentions in the last seven years because we stood up to Snape! But I think she is going to beat us: I mean, she risked detention on her _first day_! That needs talent, mate!" I smiled as we headed towards the library -we had a free period in sixth hour, since we hadn't reached the standards for the advanced Latin class, a thing we were proud of-, and shook my head.

"Talent, or a very bad temper," I muttered, amused.

* * *

><p>Latin class passed quickly -it was an interesting lesson, and, besides that, I had always enjoyed the subject-, and then I headed to Art Languages, class 16. Luckily it was right at the end of the corridor, so I didn't have to struggle to find it.<p>

As soon as I entered it, though, I started to regret my choice for seventh hour.

The walls were hidden behind tall shelves, stuffed to the top with blocks of clay and wax, tempera colours, sketchbooks and blank canvas, but also with an impressive collections of crystals and oddly-shaped stones of indefinable colours.

There were heavy violet curtains shielding the pale light of the rainy day, and the room was dimly lit by dozens of candles placed everywhere -on the shelves, on the narrow windowsills, even on the desks!-; prisms of various sizes and colours were hanging from the ceiling and the blackboard, creating strange lights on the walls.

I noticed there was a thin ribbon of white smoke lifting from a few long sticks on the teacher's desk, and I wrinkled my nose as I recognized the pungent, rich smell: incense.

_Ugh_.

I walked forward, and stifled a sigh when I saw the teacher: she blended in perfectly with the bizarre surroundings.

She was thin in the extreme, with long, incredibly tousled dirty blonde hair which had small braids in them; she wore large, two-inches-thick round glasses, and her caramel eyes seemed huge behind the lenses, magnified to several times their natural size.

She was wearing an orange floor-length skirt, and the upper part of her body was wrapped in a gauzy spangled shawl, which showed some kind of purple long sleeved blouse under it; part of her hair was held back by what looked like a long red scarf, and dozens of tingling bracelets were hanging around her wrists, some with oddly-shaped charms or crystals attached to them, some looking like they were made out of bones or something similar.

She looked like a crazy gypsy obsessed with clairvoyance and ghosts, like the ones who read your hand at fairs.

"Oh, dear, you are the new student, aren't you?" she asked me, fixing her huge eyes on me. I nodded doubtfully, chewing my lip and eyeing her with suspicion. She nodded, rocking slightly back and forth, reminding me of a giant owl.

"Well, welcome to you. I am glad you have decided to initiate the noble study of arts. It is a long path, and, of course, you need to have the_ Eye_." She emphatically stressed the last word, making me think she had intended it as capital.

Ok, she was really creeping me out.

"You need the eye to _see _beyond things and catch their true shape."

I nodded quickly, trying to smile, and slipped into one of the seats in the back, as far from her as possible. That woman gave me chills.

I sighed as the professor greeted the others and then started her lesson, showing us what looked like a red-and-green dotted canvas, babbling something about 'the eye', 'inner meaning' and 'hidden shapes'. Personally, I thought it looked like the doodle of a three-years-old, but if she wanted to waste an hour talking about it, I was cool with that.

After a while I started to feel a little drowsy –the dimly lit room was overly warm, and the intense smell of incense made my head spin slightly-, but just when I was starting to consider the possibility of falling asleep on my desk, something hit my shoulder lightly, bumping on the floor. I bent carefully and picked it up: it was a small ball of paper.

I unfolded it, and smiled. There was only one word scribbled inside in black ink.

_Hi._

Who..? I looked to my right, where the note had come from, and saw the tousled redhead from Trigonometry and Chemistry grinning at me.

"Hi," I mouthed silently, amused by the note. He quickly wrote something down on another piece of paper, and threw it at me; I caught it this time, and read it.

_I'm Ron._

I looked at him, wondering if he was serious, and he gestured for me to reply. I shook my head, smiling, and accomplished, my neat cursive standing out just below his messy writing.

_I'm Hermione._

He swiftly caught the note as I threw it back to him, and smirked, taking his pen again.

_So, u in Gryffindor?_

I smirked back, writing a quick reply.

_Yep, seems so._

He smiled widely, and I blushed slightly.

_Noticed by how u tried to stand up to the snake._

He was talking about Snape, there was no doubt about that. I shrugged with a half-smile.

_Sorry he took 20 pts from us because of me, _I wrote back, grimacing.

He read, than shook his head.

_We'll get them back: football match lions-snakes next week. We'll crush them._

I couldn't help but smile, and took my pen to reply.

The hour flew by, and as the bell rang I stood up, leaning into the desk to steady myself as I put my things back in my bag.

"So, New Girl, what do you think of our wonderful Hogwarts?" asked redheaded boy, Ron, who was standing by me. I smiled, pointing at the Professor, who was cleaning the thick lenses of her glasses with her robes.

"Coolest school ever, but the teachers are…_singular_." Ron laughed softly, shaking his head.

"Don't be so gentle: they are totally nuts. And Professor Trelawney is the craziest of all them." He followed me as I slowly walked out, trying not to hit something -or someone- with my crutches.

"Yes, I think you are right. Is she into clairvoyance stuff? You know, incense, crystals…" Ron nodded, making a face.

"Oh, yes, she is: she believes in ghosts, spirits and luck. You know, she tried to read my hand once. She said I would have died in the matter of a few days, in a very painful way."

I widened my eyes, incredulous, and he smirked.

"It was three years ago." I couldn't help but laugh: that woman was far beyond the definition of _crazy_.

"And she had said the same thing to all of my brothers! Seems like she is convinced that us Weasleys are condemned to die young," he added, with a huge grin on his face. I smiled at him, and just then I noticed that the indefinable, stormy colour of his eyes, which before I couldn't exactly figure out in the distance, was an unusually dark shade of blue, with smoky grey specks around the pupils.

"Hermione!" I looked up, and saw Luna waving at me from across the hall as she tried to close her huge bag, which was covered in pins and bizarre drawings.

"Coming!" I called, smiling at her.

"Sorry, my lift is waiting," I told Ron, grimacing. "See you tomorrow in class?" He nodded and smiled.

"'Course. I can't miss our next Art Languages class: who knows, maybe Professor Trelawney will decide to read your future in a teacup." I smiled back, quirking an eyebrow.

"She does that, too?" I asked, half surprised, half amused. Ron smirked, adjusting his battered schoolbag on his shoulder.

"Oh, yes, of course. She says tea leaves are 'the mirror of what will come'. She would never miss the chance of making a good prediction to the _new girl_." I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

"I'm _really _looking forward to it, then," I said sarcasm evident in my voice. Ron shrugged, a sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes.

"So do I, Hermione. Well, see you tomorrow then." He smiled at me one last time and then disappeared in the crowd of students of the hall.

I stayed there for a moment; then I slowly caught up with Luna. She smiled kindly at me and patted my shoulder.

"How was your day?" she asked with a happy sigh, stretching her arms over her head. I smiled, peeking to the grey sky above our heads. It wasn't raining anymore, and thin streaks of light lightened the dark clouds, illuminating the rain-soaked hills like diamonds.

"Great, Luna," I replied, enjoying the sweet smell of damp earth and leaves which filled the air.

"It was really great."

* * *

><p><strong>Here is the new chapter! The second this week, I'm very proud :P Tomorrow I'm back to school, though, so I will not have so much time to write, and I will be back to 1 chap every week. Hope you liked it...It was fun to write this chap, with Ron who doesn't know how to talk to Hermione; I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing! And, guys, as always...REVIEW! I love your comments! <strong>

**J **


	7. Author's Note

**Author's note:**

**Sorry I haven't updated this week, guys, but I have spent the last 10 days stuck at my desk studying, I'm going to go crazy with all these tests we are having. Right now I'm studying for a test of Medieval History, 35 pages to study 4 tomorrow!**

**I swear I will update the next chapter within Friday and Sunday, cross my heart and hope to die ;)**

**Sorry, sorry, sorry and –guess what?- sorry a hundred thousand times,**

**Jez**


	8. Chapter 7

**Ok, guys, here is the chapter! Sorry it took so long, but I was very busy with school last week. Anyway, enjoy the reading, and Read and Review please!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Of Skirts, Books and Funny Red Spectacles<p>

Mr Lovegood dropped me right in front of Madam Malkin's, where Aunt Elspeth was waiting, an impatient Emma holding her hand and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"See you tomorrow!" called Luna from the car window, waving at me. I waved back, smiling, and almost lost my balance when Emma launched herself at me, chattering at top speed about how much fun she had had at school and how she had made three friends yet. I laughed, holding tight to my crutches to prevent myself from falling.

"Hey, Em, slow down: I almost can't understand!"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, looking like someone who has to explain again something obvious to a little kid. Jeez, she was really creepy sometimes: since when did five-years-old look so adult?

"Come on, sweetie," said Aunt Elspeth, ruffling her bushy hair, "You can tell her everything while we do the shopping." Emma nodded enthusiastically and took her hand, looking like an adoring puppy.

"What about your school, dear?" asked Aunt Elspeth, turning her bright eyes on me. I grinned, feeling the excitement I had kept under control the whole day raising in my chest.

"It is wonderful!" I said, following her to the shop. "I mean, the fact that it is _actually_ in the castle is already incredible itself, and the lessons are really great, as well as most of the professors." She smiled at me, nodding with a satisfied look on her face.

"And in which house did they sort you in, dear?"

Oh, I was waiting for that question! I puffed out my chest and smiled widely.

"Gryffindor," I said proudly, "_Where dwell the brave at heart._" The smile Aunt Elspeth gave me was so happy and bright it made me blush slightly, but I didn't lower my eyes from hers.

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I am so, so happy, dear! A Gryffindor! I am so proud of you!" She pushed the door of the shop, and the happy sound of a small bell announced our arrival.

"Martha!" called Aunt Elspeth, waving happily at the old woman behind the counter. "We need a Gryffindor uniform!" The eyes of the woman sparkled as she looked at me.

"Really? A Gryffindor? Oh, how wonderful!" She jumped off a stool and quickly came to greet us.

She was short and round, with dark, shiny eyes and soft billows of grey hair falling around her face.

"You know, your aunt and I went to school together, many more years ago than I like to admit. We were both sorted in Gryffindor," she told me with a kind smile, guiding me towards the piles of neatly folded clothes on the shelves.

"So, now let's see…God, you are such a small thing! You'll need the smallest size I have!" She looked at me in disapproval, shaking her head. "Too thin, too thin," she muttered under her breath, taking several items in her arms.

"Well, these should fit. So...here, try this one on. I don't have smaller ones, so if it is large you can only put on some weight." I nodded, blushing slightly, and lowered my eyes for a moment.

"Can I sit down?" I asked sheepishly. "I still can't stand without my crutches, and I need my hands to be free to try the jumper on…" Her eyes softened, and she led me to a changing room hidden behind a thick curtain.

"Here, dear. Tell me if the jumper fits, and then we will take care of the rest of the uniform." I nodded and quickly sat down on the stool, putting on the red jumper embroidered with the Gryffindor emblem. It was a little loose, but it was no big deal: with the incredible amount of food Aunt Elspeth cooked every day, I would have filled it in no time, I was sure.

"That's perfect," I said, taking it off and handing it back to Madam Malkin. She nodded, satisfied, and put it on the counter, along with other things.

"So, a small for the jumpers…Perfect, perfect. Now…I bet a skirt would be wonderful on you. No trousers, you are thin enough, those shapeless things would make you look even smaller…" I chewed my lip, blushing.

"I don't think it's a good idea," I murmured, thinking about what _skirts _implied. Madam Malkin shook her head forcefully, pushing me into the changing room once again and handing me a dark grey skirt with a red-rimmed hem.

"Oh, don't be silly: you will be wonderful. Now try it on, honey, try it on." I sighed and obeyed, quickly replacing my black jeans with the skirt. Luckily there was no mirror in the changing room, and I carefully avoided looking down at my bare legs -I would have refused to come out if I did so-.

When I stepped out I heard two simultaneous gasps, but I ignored them and went to the large mirror by the shelves. The skirt fitted perfectly and hung just above my knees; I would have loved it if it wasn't for the thick, dark pink scars which ran on my fair skin from under the hem of the skirt to mid-calf, ugly and swollen like ropes enclosed in my body. I felt warm tears welling up in my eyes, and I fought to hold them back, refusing to cry for such a tiny, stupid thing: I had seen those scars before, why was I so upset?

I sighed and turned my head, trying to smile at Aunt Elspeth and Madam Malkin, both of whom were looking at me with mirroring worried expressions on their faces.

"That's why I prefer trousers," I muttered, chewing my lip. Madam Malkin looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then grabbed a black bundle from a shelf.

"These will solve the problem," she said, a glint of sadness in her dark eyes. I took the small package, curious, and smiled: black tights. With those on, my scars would have been perfectly concealed.

"Thank you," I said softly, running my fingers on the thick cotton fabric. The old woman smiled, winking at me.

"You are welcome, dear. Now, what else do you need?"

We got out of the shop half an hour later with two large bags containing my school uniform: three skirts like the one I tried on, four plain white shirts, four jumpers -two grey, one red and one black- embroidered with the rampant lion of my house, two red-and-gold ties and a pair of plain black shoes, plus a few pairs of dark grey and black stockings -I would have needed them like I needed air-. I really didn't expect I would have needed so many things just for the uniform.

"Now we need to go to Flourish and Blotts. Do you have the list of your textbooks, dear?" I nodded and quickly took the folded paper from my bag. I hadn't even read it before, so I quickly scanned it, trying to get an idea.

_The Advanced Book of Trigonometry, by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Modern Times, by Bathilda Bagshot_

_One Thousand Herbs and Fungi, by Phyllida Spore_

_Transfiguration of Literature and Poetry Through the Centuries, by Emeric Switch_

_Chemistry and its Basic Applications, by Arsenius Jigger_

_Latin Made Easy, by Lawrence Runes _

_Primary Colours: A Guide to Art and its Many Branches and Interpretations, by Cassandra Vablatsky_

Ok, those were the strangest books I had ever heard of: I mean, _Transfiguration of Literature and Poetry_?

That was odd! I didn't say anything, though, and followed Aunt Elspeth to the other side of the street, where a wooden sign which reported _Flourish and Blotts -Books for Every Occasion- _in an elaborate cursive caught my eye.

The letters, carved in the honey coloured wood, were painted a bright yellow which reminded me of sunflowers, and had branch-like green spirals and arabesques decorating them; the effect was quite nice, and it stood out against the cloudy sky.

We got in, and I widened my eyes, looking around in wonder.

The shop was huge, and there were books _everywhere_: they filled the shelves of the ceiling-tall bookcases and stood in unstable-looking stacks placed here and there; there were average-looking paperbacks and economic editions, and also other books which were absolutely untypical and incredible, some large as paving stones and bound in leather, some the size of a postage stamp in covers of velvet or silk.

I had never seen a similar place before.

"Please, tell me I'm not dreaming," I whispered, still looking around. "I want to live in here. Do you think the owner would agree putting a cot in a corner for me?"

Aunt Elspeth laughed softly, shaking her head in amusement, and led me to the _Hogwarts Textbooks _section, under a tag which said _7__th__ years_. It didn't take much to find everything I needed, and we were done soon -_too_ soon for my taste-. I would have come back after school one of those days, though: I was dying to spend an afternoon among those books, and I needed some new readings.

The three of us squeezed into Aunt Elspeth's old car, a black, shiny beetle-like little thing which had probably been new in the early twenties -at least-, and we slowly headed home, the car jerking alarmingly at every hole in the ground.

_Note to myself: stay away from this car from now on._

When we got home I stumbled up the stairs, trying not to fall, but as soon as I got to the top I bumped in a stack of maroon boxes, and it was only due to pure luck if I didn't end up on the floor.

"Wha-?" I started, confused, bending slightly to rub my knee where I had hit the box.

"Oh, I am sorry, dear, I forgot to tell you: the courier came here this morning and delivered your things," said Aunt Elspeth, coming up behind me carrying the bag of clothes from Madam Malkin's.

I smiled, blushing slightly: I had completely forgotten that our things were to arrive today. I had had so many things to think of, it simply slipped out of my mind.

To be honest, I hadn't thought about my former home _at all _those days. And-Lavender! God, I had totally forgotten about her! How could I? I made a face, sighing.

"Aunt Elspeth, is there an Internet connection in the house?" I asked sheepishly, chewing my lip. "I just remembered I hadn't checked my mail since I got here, and my best friend might think I got lost or something like that if I don't reply her messages." Aunt Elspeth laughed, probably amused by my expression, and nodded.

"Of course there is, dear: I got it installed years ago. I might be old, but that doesn't mean I don't want to keep pace with the times. You can use the phone jack by your desk."

I nodded and thanked her, quickly pushing the boxes of books in my room with a crutch and switching my computer on. The server was a little slow, but it didn't bother me: while I waited I pushed a chair by the bookshelf and opened the first box, putting my beloved books in place. I felt relieved having them there, they were familiar, with their battered covers and slightly crumpled pages.

A faint _beep _told me the computer had found the connection, so I opened my mail, nervously biting my lip. There were three incoming messages, each shorter than the previous.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Hermione,<em>

_How was the flight? I bet you slept the whole way there, thirteen hours seem like an eternity on a plane._

_How is England? Is it how you expected? Better? Worse? I looked at Ottery St Catchpole with GoogleMaps, and it looked a very nice place, with a lot of green around it; it's quite small, but I like it. But you know it better than me, since you are there now. And the house? And your aunt? Sorry for all of those questions, but I'm just curious: it's the first time we don't visit someplace together, and I want to know everything about what you think of Old England. This way it's almost like I'm there too, isn't it?_

_I miss you, Mione! I have lost my older sister, my best friend and my confident altogether! I can't believe I won't see you until Christmas break! That's not fair! But I hope you don't miss me that much: it sucks, really. _

_Mum and Dad told me to say hi to you and Emmy; they hope you are alright and that you don't miss home too much. _

_Tommy has stayed in his room the whole day, do you know that? He didn't want me to come in, but I suspect he has been crying: you know how much he was attached to Emma, he misses her like crazy. I think the little prankster has a crush on your baby sister, by the way: I have never seen him so sad and silent. _

_Write me back soon! _

_Love and hugs,_

_Lav_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Hermione,<em>

_Today is Sunday, the day we usually took little Em and Tommy to the park and chatted while they ran around and played. It's sunny -what a surprise!-, but Tom is still in his room, and I don't want to go alone. _

_Have I already said I miss you? Probably yes, but I'll say it again: I miss you, big sister. Who will I talk to now that you are gone to the other side of the world? Who will tell me I am a dummy when I do something very stupid, or shush me when I start to babble senseless and become too bubbly, or talk me out of some stupid crush I have on some stupid boy who dumped me?_

_But I am such a selfish person: I bet you are feeling much worse than me, all alone in foreign land, without anyone to talk to. So if you can't talk, write! And soon, because I am going crazy not knowing how you are!_

_Hugs and kisses, _

_XOXO Lav XOXO _

_Dear Mione,_

_How are you? Today school without you was hell: I sat alone in every class and now I am having lunch (alone) in the IT classroom -I'm using one of the school's computers to write to you now-._

_The teachers miss you a lot -you were the top of our year, of course they miss you!- and Miss Montgomery told me to say hi to you. The woman absolutely adores you, she said no one could write best essays for her English class. _

_Tommy is better, at least he came out of his room today, so it's a start. But he is still very quiet, and he doesn't even play with his noisy videogames. He misses his best bud too much to have fun without her._

_But why haven't you wrote back yet? I am starting to get worried! If you don't reply soon, I swear I will phone the American Consulate__to denounce you as missing!_

_Write!_

_Lav_

* * *

><p>I sighed and replied quickly, trying to calm her.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Lav, <em>

_I am sorry, but I got no time to breathe -or to check my mail- these days._

_I am alright though, so don't worry, I am alive. More or less._

_H_

* * *

><p>I sent the short message, and then wrote a longer mail where I told her everything about the house and my aunt, the town and, above all, about how amazing, incredible and…<em>magic <em>Hogwarts was.

I told her about the sorting, about Dumbledore and Snape, and described Professor Trelawney in the detail, wondering what she would have thought of her; but I didn't tell her of Luna and Ginny, and of Ron, who had introduced himself sending me a note in Art Languages and who had been so kind to me when we talked after the lesson.

I didn't know why I didn't want to tell her; maybe because I was afraid she would have felt betrayed if I had already made friends here, or because I didn't want to sound so carefree and happy when she obviously was missing me a lot more than I was missing her. I felt guilty for that, but there was nothing I could do to change things.

I sent the mail, and then went back to my books, neatly placing them on the shelves and singing softly to myself, smiling and thinking again about how life seemed to be so wonderful since I came to England.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

I ran outside, in delay for football practice as always, my bag bouncing on my back as I sped to the field. I skidded to a halt in the changing room, breathless, and my teammates laughed as they greeted me.

"Hey, Ron. Late as always, huh?" asked Dean Thomas, grinning.

"Aww…Is ickle Ronniekins late again?" I glared at my brother as he flashed a huge smile at me, kicking him as I passed.

"Very funny, Fred," I said bitterly, almost throwing my bag in my locker.

"Aw, c'mon, little brother, just kidding," said George, ruffling his hair and smiling identically as his twin was already doing. I hated when they acted like that.

"Were you just kidding this morning too, when neither of you came to wake me up?" I asked not looking at them, quickly changing into my football uniform. They shrugged simultaneously, looking more identical than ever.

"It's not our fault," started Fred.

"If you sleep as soundly as a troll," finished George.

Perfect, now they were starting ending each other's sentences again. I ignored them, smashing my locker shut and running out, wanting to get away from them. They were only a year older than me, but they always treated me like a little kid, especially in front of others. I knew they did it just to joke, but when you had five older brothers who treated you like that, it starts to get really annoying.

"Hey, mate, how did it go?" Harry asked, plopping down on a bench next to me. I shrugged, looking down at my feet.

"What?" I asked, rubbing the side of my trainer to clean it from a bit of dirt. Harry scoffed, ruffling his hair.

"Did you talk to her?" I smiled, looking up, and felt my ears warm up a little -I knew I had blushed, but I ignored it-.

"Yes, I did." He grinned, lightly punching my shoulder.

"So, what do you think?" he asked as our teammates started to get out onto the field. I smiled sheepishly, getting up.

"Dunno. She's pretty shy, but really nice. And smart, a lot: I mean, she has _Latin_. And she thinks Trelawney is totally mad, so she's ok." I looked up to the cloudy sky, thinking for a moment.

"But she looked a little sad, you know. Ginny told me her parents died a few weeks ago in a car crash; she survived, but got injured pretty badly. And now she is here, living with an aunt she didn't even know and with a little sister to take care of. It mustn't be easy for her." Harry smiled and nodded, pushing me forward towards the others.

"We'll help her with that, mate. I bet we will become good friends in no time." I rolled my eyes, but smiled.

I hoped he was right.

* * *

><p>I had just finished putting my things away when the doorbell rang downstairs. I went to the staircase, curious to see who it was since it was almost dinnertime, and I smiled when I saw Emma sitting on one of the lower steps, spying intently into the hall.<p>

"Who is it?" I asked her softly, standing by her. She made a face, wrinkling her nose.

"A woman, I saw her coming from my window. Blonde, with red funny glasses." She waited for a moment, then added: "I don't like her the littlest bit." Just then Aunt Elspeth called us downstairs; she sounded a little annoyed, though.

"Hermione, Emma, come down! There is an old _friend_ of your father come to meet you!" Was it my impression or she had spoken the word _friend _with heavy sarcasm? I stumbled down, Emma close at my side, and looked at the woman with a mixture of incredulity, amusement and dislike.

Her bright blonde hair was set in unnaturally rigid curls, contrasting strongly with her heavy-jawed face. She was wearing acid-green jacket and skirt, and she was clutching a crocodile handbag just a shade darker than her clothes. I noticed her nails were two inches long and painted a dark crimson, matching her jewelled, butterfly-shaped spectacles.

"Oh, you must be Hermione," she said, jumping forward and grabbing my arm, almost knocking me over. I pushed away from her, wanting to put some distance between us.

"Yes, I am," I said coldly, not even trying to be kind or polite.

"And this little girl must be your sister: so _cuuute_!" she said, pinching Emma's cheek. Emma looked at her in open dislike and didn't say a single word.

"My name is Rita Skeeter, I am the founder of our local gazette." She flashed a brilliant smile at me, and I saw at least three gold teeth behind her bright red lips.

"I'll go make some tea," said Aunt Elspeth, looking coldly at her and heading to the kitchen. She didn't like that woman, I was one hundred per cent sure.

"So, can I ask you a few questions?" said Rita Skeeter, taking my arm again and dragging me to the sofa. I plopped down heavily, trying to look the less collaborative possible, and Emma climbed up with me, curling up into my side.

"Why?" I asked, putting an arm around my sister. Rita Skeeter smiled again.

"But for a small interview, of course!" she said, like it was something obvious.

"Wouldn't it be nice if I wrote a few lines about you? Just another way to welcome you in our town."

I didn't think it was nice _at all_, but before I could agree or say anything she took a block-notes and a pen from her handbag and settled down in the armchair in front of us.

"So, Hermione…what do you think of our England?" I tried to smile: maybe she really wanted to do that to be kind.

"Well, it's wonderful. Different from where I used to live, but still very charming, with all of this space and green around." She scribbled something quickly as I spoke, and I tried to ignore it.

"Of course it must be hard for you, becoming an orphan at the age of fifteen…"

"Seventeen," I corrected her quietly, forcing another smile. She got on like I hadn't talked.

"…Such a great loss. Do you miss your parents a lot?" I glared at her, getting really annoyed.

"Of course I do!" I almost shouted, losing my temper. "What do you think? That I am happy I will never see them again for the rest of my life?" She looked at me with a sympathetic look on her face, and shook her head, still writing. I looked at her block notes, and I felt my face getting hot with angriness.

_Hermione Granger, fifteen, says she is so happy to be here in England, where everything is so different from the poorness of the city she had lived before. Mentioning her parents, her eyes fill with tears, and she says she hopes they are fine, wherever they are, and that they are watching her right now._

"I didn't say any of that!" I said hotly, resisting the urge to snap the block notes from her hands. She shrugged.

"And, tell me, how did it happen? I know your father was driving when you had the accident, and I can't help but thinking: was he drunk then?" I felt my blood boil with indignation.

"Are you saying my father was an alcoholic, or that he would have been that irresponsible?" I said, now really wanting to hit her, _hard. _She glared at me, her eyes turning cold.

"Your father wasn't that saint you think, sweetheart, you have to make a reason of that. He was just a liar and a-" I cut her off, jumping to my feet with a strength I didn't know I had.

"He was a good man!" I snarled, my heart pounding in my chest. How dared she, coming here, into _my house_, to insult my father? If she thought she would have gone away with that, she was really wrong.

I took her arm and dragged her with me, stumbling to the hall and holding onto the wall to prevent myself from falling, but refusing to use my crutches. I would have done it alone.

"Out," I said quietly, glaring at the woman before me. "Now."

I snatched the block notes from her hands and threw it at Emma, who caught it.

"And this stays with us."

Rita looked outraged, and I felt pleased with myself at that. I opened the door and gestured for her to step out of it.

"If I see even a single word about me, or my parents, or anyone in my family on your gazette, I swear I will sue you with the accuse of defamation and privacy violation," I warned her coldly as she exited, her nose up in the air.

Then I closed the door right in her face, leaving out her and any comment or insult she wanted to throw at me or my family.

When I turned, Emma looked like she was suppressing laughter, sniggering behind her hand, and Aunt Elspeth, on the kitchen door, was looking at me mesmerized. I made a face at her.

"Sorry, Aunt," I said, blushing slightly and leaning in the wall, my legs suddenly feeling wobbly and weak.

"I shouldn't have thrown her out like that, but she had really crossed the line with what she had said." To my surprise, she laughed.

"You are sorry? It was about time someone did that to her! That woman is unbearably nosy, gossiping and malicious, no one can stand her anymore, she and her hateful behaviour! I know people who would want to duct-tape that large, malevolent mouth of hers and just throw her in some shed to stop her from meddling in other people's business! If you hadn't thrown her out, I would have done so in the next five minutes!" I laughed along with her, feeling relieved and light hearted that I had apparently done the right thing.

But somewhere in the back of my mind Rita Skeeter's words still burned: _Your father wasn't that saint you think, sweetheart, you have to make a reason of that. He was just a liar. _

And I couldn't help but wondering what she knew about him that made her say so.


	9. Chapter 8

**Ok, guys, I am unforgivable: it took me two whole weeks to write this chapter, and I am SO sorry about that! But at last I had done it, chapter 8 is on! To make the writing worth the waiting, I made this chapter longer -_much_ longer-, and I put some good stuff in it, mostly funny and cute stuff. I hope you like it! Enjoy, Read and Review! :) **

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Of Snakes and Lions, Crazy Old Men and Ice Cream Parlours<p>

The next morning I woke up even earlier than the previous day -it was barely six, and the sun had just come out-, feeling happy without a real reason. The hot water of the shower awoke me completely, and I got back to my room singing softly while I towel dried my hair.

I smiled as I took my new uniform out of my closet and put it on, once again thanking silently the thick tights which concealed my scars. I was knotting my tie in front of the mirror in the corner when a soft knock echoed in the room. Just seconds later Emma's bushy head poked in, and she yawned hugely.

"Sorry, honey," I apologized, smiling at her. "Didn't mean to wake you up." She shrugged and yawned again before smiling.

"No problem, it was time anyway," she said, bouncing toward me.

"Why are you so happy?" she asked, climbing on my bed and hugging her knees.

I laughed softly and plopped down beside her, hugging her tight.

"Don't know, I just am," I replied, shrugging and reaching forward to grab my red Gryffindor jumper before pushing it over my head. She gave me a funny look before jumping down and running to the bathroom.

"I will be down in five minutes, leave me some breakfast!" she called as she went, and I scowled at her.

"I am not the one who eats like a whole army!" I reminded her, taking my crutches and stepping in the corridor. I heard her laughter, muffled by the closed door, and shook my head, rolling my eyes.

Aunt Elspeth was already in the kitchen, of course, reading her newspaper with a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her.

"Good morning, dear," she greeted me, smiling and pushing a mug of coffee towards me as I sat down. I smiled back at her, taking it gratefully.

"Morning, Aunt," I said, taking a plate and filling it with three pancakes, a slice of bacon and an egg.

Emma joined us a few minutes later, and we ate together, chatting about school and such.

At seven forty the horn of Luna's father's car blew twice in the yard, and we hurried outside, grabbing our coats and bags and waving at Aunt Elspeth, who watched us go from the threshold -well, Emma waved; I just called 'Bye', since it is a little difficult to wave when you have crutches-.

We dropped Emma at the playschool as we went, and at five to eight precisely we were in front of the castle.

"I think I will never get used to it," I said softly, looking up at the massive stone walls. Luna smiled kindly and nodded.

"Yes, it is pretty unusual, is it? I have been here for six years now. And I still think it is incredible," she said, looking dreamily around the crowded hall. I wondered why she always looked so vague and distracted, almost…_detached _from reality, and yet slightly sad, despite her constant kindness.

Luna helped me find my locker, and we just stood in front of it, chatting, and soon Ginny joined us too, her bag slumped on one shoulder.

"Hi, Luna," she said, linking arm with her. Then she smiled at me.

"Hi, housmate." I grinned back at her.

"Hi back, housmate," I said, amused by her greeting.

"Ron told me what Snape did yesterday -how unfair!-. That man gets more and more acid every day, he should really have a good-"

The bell -thankfully- interrupted her, saving Luna and I from any obscenity she was about to say. I quickly stuffed my books in the locker -I didn't want to drag all of that weight on my shoulder back and forth from class to class-, keeping in my bag only what I needed for first and second hour, and hurried to Classroom 9, for English. I really didn't want to disappoint Professor McGonagall getting late at her first lesson, she looked pretty strict, no matter which house one was in.

Luckily, when I got there the classroom was still half empty; there were just a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs chatting in a low voice from desk to desk, waiting for the lesson to start.

I muttered a polite 'Good morning,' to the Professor and started to look for a good place to sit in, when a movement in the back caught my attention. Ron and Harry, the black-haired boy from Chemistry, were waving at me, pointing at an empty seat by their desk and smiling.

I shook my head, but joined them, wondering if they had kept the seat for me. Oh, obviously not: what was I thinking?

As I went, I recognized a few faces from the previous day's lessons -Parvati Patil, that time without her twin, a chubby red haired Hufflepuff girl I was almost sure was named Hannah Abbott and a tall, goofy Gryffindor boy with large front teeth and a childlike face who had Botanic with me, but whose name I had forgotten-; it was good not to feel that lost anymore.

I sat down by the two boys, smiling, and they welcomed me with twin grins.

"We have saved you the seat," said Harry, fussing with his hair.

"Of course, we couldn't let you sit by someone you don't even know," added Ron, leaning back in his chair and almost falling over doing so.

"I mean, what kind of people would we be, leaving you in the lions' cage without any help?" I raised an eyebrow at him, taking my book from the bag.

"Aren't _we _supposed to be the lions here?" I asked ironically, and they shot me amused glances.

"Sorry, he should have said _the reptile house_," Harry corrected with a smirk. I sighed and rolled my eyes, but then laughed, along with the two of them.

"Well, thank you anyway, guys," I said, trying to pull myself back together for the lesson -the class was almost full and Professor McGonagall was starting to scowl at us three in the back, the only ones still talking-.

They nodded, straightening their backs and putting on innocent, I-am-a-good-boy-like faces in order to avoid McGonagall's anger; as soon as she looked away, though, they went back to smiling, exchanging an amused glance.

"You are welcome, New Girl," they said.

When the bell rang, we headed to History together, and the boys insisted for me to sit by their desk again -a thing I was very grateful for, since we had that lesson in common with the Slytherins-.

It took me less than five minutes to find out that Professor Binn, the History teacher, had an incredible talent for making the students fall asleep during his lessons; I tried to take notes in the beginning, but after a while I desisted, too bored to follow the low buzzing of the Professor's lecture.

So I just looked around the class, from the Slytherin students, who were sniggering and passing a paper to one another, writing something down quickly before handing it to the next desk, to my fellows Gryffindors, who were chatting in a low voice or passing notes.

"Is it always like this?" I whispered to Ron, beside me. He grinned, pointing at the Professor in the front.

"Oh, no, of course not," he said, an amused glint in his dark blue eyes. "This is one of the most exciting and interesting lectures he has ever given us. You are lucky starting with that, you know."

I looked at him with wide eyes, thinking he was joking: how could _that _be one of the _most interesting _lessons?

"Oh, you'll get used to it," said Harry, leaning in and yawning, ruffling his hair -he did that a lot, I was starting to notice-. "No one listens to Binn, not anymore anyway. And he is resigned to that fact: he doesn't mind if we chat, sleep, play cards or do anything else during his hours, unless we try to blow up the school or something like that."

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head.

"Oh, what a pity: I have always dreamed of blowing up a castle, I have no greater ambition in my life," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"Well, you have found the right ones to ask for help in your mission," said Ron, flashing a grin at me.

I playfully shoved him, snorting, and Harry leaned away from me, laughing, his hands lifted with the palms toward me in the universal No Harm sign. I would have never admitted that, but I felt incredibly at ease with the two of them, like I had known them for my whole life.

Then the bell rang, and we quickly collected our things, heading to Trigonometry.

The hour passed quickly, and we split up for fourth hour, Harry and Ron heading to Zoology while I tried to find my way to the greenhouse. The castle was really huge, with dozens of rooms and stairs which led everywhere but where one meant to go, so it was extremely easy to get lost.

Anyway, eventually I got in the gardens, and from then to the greenhouse, joining a small group of my classmates which included Padma and Parvati, and that Hannah girl from Hufflepuff. The four of us got along pretty well, and the hour flew by, much faster than I thought possible.

"See you later!" said the girls, running outside. I waved back and then slowly got to my feet, taking my crutches and slumping my bag on my shoulder.

I got to the Great Hall, and it took me a few seconds to take everything in: there were four long tables in the large room, each crowded with students from one house; in the back, under three huge windows made of coloured glass, there was a fifth table, much shorter than the others, where sat the professors, along with the Headmaster.

"Hermione! Here!" I looked around to see who was calling me, and I saw Ginny sitting at the Gryffindor table, waving her arms to catch my attention.

"I saved you lunch and a seat," she said proudly as I sat down beside her. I smiled, taking my sandwich from the tray in front of me.

"Thank you, Ginny," I said sincerely, looking around. "No Luna today?" I asked then, not seeing the girl's almost white head anywhere around the Ravenclaw table.

Ginny made a face, taking a sip from her bottle of water.

"She is somewhere with her boyfriend Neville, probably doing things I don't want to know about," she said, flicking her long red hair back with her hand.

"Hey, there she is!"

Ron plopped down in front of us, smiling and pointing at me, with Harry close on his heels.

"Thought you had been eaten by one of Professor Sprout's Venus flytraps," he joked, placing a tray down before sitting beside the other boy.

"Very funny," I said, taking another bite from my lunch. I chewed quickly. "Anyway, Venus flytraps don't actually eat meat, you know. Their main sources of nourishment are flies and mosquitos, which contain a lot of carbon and nitrogen," I said, smiling and not looking at him. Ginny laughed softly.

"You sounded a lot like the professor," she said, wrinkling her nose.

I blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed: sometimes I tended to be a bit of a knows-it-all, a thing that kept a lot of people away from me back at my old school.

"Well, to do so she should have spoken two octaves higher: I mean, Professor Sprout's voice is so high-pitched only bats can hear it sometimes," said Ron, laughing along with her sister. It took me a second to realize that they weren't laughing _of_ me, but _with_ me.

"Hi, Hermione." Parvati joined the four of us, along with four Gryffindors boys I was sure I had seen around, but who I hadn't ever talked to.

"Guys, this is Hermione," she said, sitting down on the long bench beside me.

"Hermione, these are Dean Thomas," a tall boy with dark skin and black hair and eyes smiled at me from across the table, "Seamus Finnegan," a short boy with sandy hair and light green eyes, the opposite of Dean, waved at me, "And Colin and Dennis Creevery."

The last two boys were obviously brothers, with identical large front teeth, dark blonde hair and dark eyes, and they were a little younger than us -Colin looked maybe like a sixth year, and Dennis was probably a year younger than him-.

"Hi," they chorused politely before attacking their lunch, wolfing down incredibly quickly the huge amount of food piled on their trays.

"Don't mind them, they are walking black holes; they would eat the table too, if they could," said Ginny, waving carelessly towards the two boys.

"I have noticed," I said, even if it was hard to believe that those two skinny kids could eat so much. Just then Harry looked at his watch and groaned.

"Guys, we would better head down to the dungeons: Chemistry is in ten minutes, and if we get late Snape will take God knows how many points from us," he said with a sigh, standing up and taking his bag. I mimicked him, taking my crutches.

"I agree," I said without enthusiasm.

A few seconds later every seventh year Gryffindor had stood up, each of them with looks of various intensity of reluctance and dismay in their eyes. We all walked to the dungeons in a close group, Parvati in the front and I in the back, with Harry and Ron by mi sides, almost like they were guarding me. Very kind of them, but a little funny too.

We got there pretty early, and we all slipped in the desks to the right, the ones closer to the door; I was sitting with Ron, between the desks of Harry and Dean and Seamus and Parvati.

I had made the mistake of sitting in plain sight in the front the previous day, but I wasn't stupid: I wouldn't have done that again, first, because I didn't want to have Snape's cold face in front of me the whole hour, and two, because I felt safe and shielded sitting among my new friends and housemates, and I wouldn't have given up that sensation for anything.

The worst part came just after the lesson started, though, when Snape assigned us an experiment -a graded one, of course-, handing us a paper with the instructions.

"It's impossible," groaned Ron as we took everything we needed for the assignment, "We will take a T, and Snape will sneer the whole time!" I shook my head slowly as I read the instructions carefully.

"I think we can make it, instead," I said, chewing my lip and thinking. "We will just have to be careful doing the maths to balance the ingredients."

He looked at me like I was crazy, but didn't say anything.

So I started to work carefully, controlling each point twice, and when I put the last ingredient in I started to stir the boiling mixture anti-clockwise with a long, thin stainless steel spoon.

"Are you sure of what you are doing?" asked Ron, peeping at our work with doubtful eyes. "It should turn blue," he added in a low voice. I gestured for him to shut up and wait, counting silently.

_Twenty-three…twenty-four…twenty-five…_

And then, just as the paper said, the mixture turned a soft, deep blue which reminded me of forget-me-nots. I glanced at the work of our friends; Harry and Dean seemed to be a little behind us, but doing well,while Parvati and Seamus' experiment was an intense lime green colour, and it was boiling in an alarming way.

I quickly raised my hand, calling the professor to our desk.

Snape looked at our experiment with a critical look on his pale face, but when I saw his lips purse in a tight line I understood we had done it right.

"Very well, Ms Granger, Mrs Weasley. The brew seems…_perfect._" He looked like he had just swallowed a toad. "Ten points to Gryffindor for your work," he added quickly before heading towards the Slytherins.

Ron looked at me with wide eyes, and smiled.

"You are a genius, Hermione, has anyone ever told you that?" he asked, pointing at our experiment, now cooling down and losing its blue colour.

"Thank you-" I started to say, but a loud noise in front of us interrupted me, making me jump.

Seamus had blown up his experiment, and a thick, nasty-smelling green smoke was lifting from the former brew, quickly filling the classroom.

"Out, everyone, NOW!" screamed Snape, opening the door and motioning for us to exit the classroom.

I took my bag and crutches and ran out as fast as I could, Harry, Ron and the others close to my heels.

"Finnegan!" yelled the Professor, pressing a handkerchief to his nose and mouth in order not to breathe the smelly fog. "Detention-for the whole week!"

The Slytherins came out behind us, coughing loudly.

"I hope they got intoxicated," said Ron, smirking.

"The lesson ends here for today-go! And Finnegan," said Snape, glaring at the sandy-haired boy, "Come to my office after the end of the lessons. _Punctual._"

And then he went away with a flick of his long black coat, quickly climbing the steps to the main part of the castle.

Poor Seamus looked like he wanted to disappear in the stone floor, his eyes fixed on his shoes while the Slytherins sneered at him. I glared at the boys dressed in green and silver, wishing I could hit them with my crutches or something like that.

"Come on, Guys, let's go," said Harry, motioning towards the stairs.

"And Seamus," he added, smiling and slapping the other boy's back with a smile, "I am sorry for that brew, but try to see it this way: we skipped almost half the lesson."

Seamus nodded, lighting up a bit, and we all went upstairs, out of the creepy dungeons and in the large corridors bathed in the pale sunshine which came through the large windows.

We spent the rest of our free time chatting and joking, and when the bell rang we split up, each of us headed to a different classroom. "See you later!" we all called to each other, walking away.

Latin passed quickly -the Professor gave us a few lines from the Iliad to translate-, and then I was in the corridors again, headed to my locker to get my Art book. I sighed as I took it, wishing I had chosen Astronomy or Zoology for my last hour instead of that useless subject; and besides that, Professor Trelawney really gave me chills.

I was about to close my locker, when an unknown, annoyed voice came from beside me.

"This school's standards got even lower than I thought. Like it wasn't enough having to attend classes with all of the scum around here…Now I have even this filthy Gryffindor owning the locker next to mine…The Headmaster will hear me, he can't force me to stand _this_, he will have to assign me another locker, I swear!"

I turned, frowning at those angry, offensive words, looking straight at the boy who was complaining so openly about having my locker next to his. He was tall, even if not as much as Ron or Harry, and really pale, with silvery blonde hair resembling Luna's and a narrow, pointed face. "Hey, what's wrong with you?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended it to be. When he turned to look at me, I saw his eyes were steel grey, and just as cold as metal.

I didn't like him, and my dislike only grew stronger when I saw the colours of the tie he had around his neck. A Slytherin, how lucky I was.

"How dare you speaking to me, you scum?"

I flushed at his rude words, anger quickly making its way into my veins, pushed forward by my bad temper.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" I asked, slamming my locker shut and looking at him, incredulous.

"_How dare I talking to you_? How dare _you _talking to _me_ like that? Who are you, the Inheriting Prince?"

The pale boy sneered, his upper lip curled up in a cruel smile.

"My name is Draco Malfoy, you little Gryffindor, and I _am _the Inheriting Prince, compared to you."

Ok, now he was really pushing his luck too much: was he joking, or was he so full of himself to actually think what he was saying?

"I have seen you, you know, walking around with those filth: Potter, too wrapped up in his glory of Popular Blockhead Football Captain, and those Weasleys, with their red heads, freckles, and second-hand clothes and books. Curious, how losers always end up in Gryffindor…"

No, he was serious, he really believed he was the king of the world.

His mocking expression turned in one of disgust, as he said: "I would be careful if I were you, new girl. Hanging out with rubbish, you could become rubbish too. And there are people, here, who wants the castle to remain _clean_. Oh, sorry, wait a second: you are a little filthy _Mudblood_, so you _are_ rubbish yet as well."

_Mudblood_. I had never heard that word before, but it was without any doubt an insult from the way he had said it, with such hate and disgust. And that made me even angrier.

"Sorry, what did you just call me?" I asked, straightening my shoulders and looking at him defiantly in the eye.

"Hey!"

Harry and Ron waved and smiled at me as they approached, but their smiles faded as soon as they saw the pale boy standing in front of me, replaced by looks of cold distaste.

"Any problems here?" Harry asked me, standing by my side, along with Ron. Before I could reply, Malfoy shrugged, a mocking grin plastered on his face.

"Well, see who has joined us: Scarface Potter and Hand-Me-Down Weasley. I was just having a chat with your new little friend here," he said, gesturing carelessly toward me, "But I was leaving; you know, I have things to do, people to meet."

His cold grey eyes fixed on me, and I stared back without faltering.

"Well, I will see you around, I guess," he said, sniggering. "Unfortunately, it will be unavoidable."

Then he turned and walked away, his hands in his pockets.

"What did he want from you?" Ron asked me, as the three of us headed to Art, just a corridor ahead. I chewed my lip for a few seconds, deciding whether or not I should have told them about it; then spoke.

"Just making trouble, I guess," I said honestly, not looking at him or Harry. "It was actually my fault, though: I heard him complaining about having his locker next to a _filthy Gryffindor_'s, and kinda…started an argument with him."

I stepped in Professor Trelawney's class and walked to the farthest desk from the teacher, slipping in my seat. Harry and Ron sat down as well, one to my right, the other in front of me.

"I know I shouldn't have had, but he was talking about how losers always end up in Gryffindor, and how I should be careful because some people wants the school to be clean from _rubbish_ like, well…me. Us. And I…lost it a bit."

Harry's brow furrowed as he leaned across the aisle towards me.

"Did he say anything else?" he asked under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear him above the Professor's blabbering. I nodded, biting my lip.

"He called me a-I am not sure if this was the exact word-Mudblood."

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

It took me a moment to actually understand what she had said.

_Mudblood._

He had dared to call her a Mudblood, that filthy, white-haired snake. The prejudiced bastard. Like anyone could care anymore about that rubbish, only him and his little gang still blabbered about _ancient privileges _and _blood purity_. They made me sick, they and their disgusting mental tricks.

I looked at Hermione, sitting behind me in silence. There was no way she could know what that word meant, but obviously she had understood it was an insult.

"So, what does it mean?" she asked after a few seconds, looking hesitantly at me.

Bloody hell, why hadn't Malfoy slept in that day and skipped school? God knows how much trouble he would have saved us.

Harry and I exchanged a worried glance; then I spoke, hesitantly.

"That means…that your blood is not _pure_."

Her brow furrowed, and she looked confused. "You have lost me there," she said, grimacing. Of course she didn't know what I meant, how could she? I bet there was no idiocy like that in America, where she came from.

"It's just some idiocy he and his snake friends like blabbering about," I said, shrugging. "You see, many Slytherins come from ancient families, powerful ones, which descend from noble houses. They consider themselves as _purebloods_, and think they are better than everyone else just because of that."

"Too many marriages between consanguineous must have damaged their brain developing," Harry muttered, making her smile. I felt a little relieved, but got on anyway.

"That's just because you are not English by birth, that's all," I said, smiling. "But if you want, we could always trap him somewhere after school and beat the hell out of him for insulting you. All you have to do is ask."

She laughed softly and shook her head, amused.

"No need for that," she said, shrugging. "But thank you."

I nodded, bowing my head slightly.

"My pleasure," I replied.

"_Our_," corrected Harry, throwing a ball of paper at me.

We spent the rest of the hour like that, joking and chatting in spite of the professor's lecture going on -not that anyone cared, anyway-, and by the end of class the Malfoy accident seemed forgotten, at least temporarily.

That was when I got the idea.

"Hey, Hermione…" I said as we gathered our things, "Harry and I were thinking of going downtown and walk around a bit after school today. Would you like to join us?"

Her eyes lit up immediately, but after a few seconds they became sad.

"I would love to, but I don't think I can make it from the castle to the town," she said apologetically. "It's still too much for me."

I shook my head, smiling.

"Oh, we won't get there on foot," I assured her. "My older brothers turned eighteen last spring, and they have a car. It's old and a bit rusty, but it works, and it's big enough for all of us to sit in the back, if we squeeze a bit."

She smiled back, taking her crutches and standing up.

"Are you sure I won't be a weight for the two of you?" she asked, still unsure. "I am slow, you have seen that."

"Then we'll slow down too. You don't have to worry about that."

She nodded, a shy smile tilting her lips upwards.

"Ok, I'll come."

* * *

><p>We went in the Hall to look for Ron's brothers, and it wasn't hard to spot them, with their dark red hair and freckles which were, I was starting to understand, Weasleys' trademark.<p>

They were both tall, with green-brown eyes, long noses and mischievous grins which spread from ear to ear. And they were absolutely identical, to the point that, for a moment, I thought I was seeing double.

"Hermione, these are my brothers, Fred and George," said Ron, pointing to a twin, then to the other.

"Guys, this is Hermione, Elspeth Granger's grand-niece."

The twins smiled at me, then bent deeply and chorused, "Enchanted!".

"So, is she coming with us?" asked one of the two boys, probably George -I really couldn't tell the two of them apart-.

"Aye, bro, I think so. Is she, Ronnie?" asked the other brother.

Ron's ears went an impressive shade of dark pink, as he replied mockingly, "She is indeed, Freddie." Fred -it had to be him- grinned and raised his hands, showing he meant no harm.

"Just kidding, little brother. Come on, we will drop you by on the way home," he said, taking his twin's arm and dragging him along.

We followed them outside, in the sunny early November afternoon. It was chilly, but the pale sunlight was still warm enough to make us comfortable with that. Harry, Ron and I squeezed together in the narrow backseat of the twins' car, and we went down the hill, towards the town.

"Could you drop me by the playschool?" I asked sheepishly as we went closer to the centre. "I don't know if my aunt is there yet to take my sister, and if she is, I can tell her I will be around for a while before coming home."

George, who was driving, smiled and nodded, turning to the right and stopping in front of the large building.

"Thank you, guys," I said, taking my crutches and carefully getting off the car.

The twins grinned and waved, almost kicking their brother out before leaving. Ron glared at their car as they turned and disappeared behind the corner, but I hardly noticed that, because a little bullet with a pink hoodie and a head of bushy, untamed hair flung itself at me the very same moment I got steady on my crutches.

"Mione, you came!" Emma squealed happily, looking up at me with her stunning blue eyes. I smiled back at her, managing to half-hug her in spite of my crutches.

"Of course I came, honey; how could I stay away from my favourite monkey in the world?" She stuck her tongue out at me, and then noticed Harry and Ron behind me.

"Who are they?" she asked suspiciously, grabbing one of my sleeves and tugging at it lightly. I smiled, looking at the two boys who stayed a little behind.

"They are my friends, Harry and Ron. They are in Gryffindor, like me." At those words she relaxed a bit, looking at them with curiosity.

And then, "Your hair is orange," she told Ron, very matter-of-factly.

We all laughed, and the boys came over, shaking their heads. "Clever girl you have here," said Harry, amused, ruffling Emma's hair. Emma scoffed and hid behind my back, pouting and scowling at the black haired boy.

Just then Aunt Elspeth came over, smiling and putting a hand on my shoulder.

"She ran from me as soon as she spotted you among the crowd of parents and siblings," she said, gesturing towards Emma. I smiled, feeling a wave of affection as Emma looked up at me, her eyes filled with happiness and trust.

"But, why are you here? And with an escort too, I see," Aunt Elspeth said, smiling at the two boys by me.

"Mrs Granger," they said, smiling and politely nodding their heads. I fidgeted with my sleeve, shrugging.

"Actually, I hoped to find you here to ask your permission: Harry and Ron invited me to join them for a stroll around town, and I wanted to know if I can, you know, go."

Aunt Elspeth smiled, taking Emma's hand in her.

"Of course you can, dear," she said, "Just don't push your strength too much." I nodded quickly, my hands tightening on my crutches.

"Don't worry, we will keep an eye on her," said Ron, grinning at me.

"Of course," added Harry, a little more seriously than his mate. "And we will get her home too; my father will pick us up in a couple of hours, and we will drop her by on our way home."

Aunt Elspeth nodded, with a satisfied look on her crinkled face. "Well, have fun, then!"

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

"How about taking her to Florian's?" I asked Harry, smiling, as we walked in no hurry along the main street.

Harry's face lit up and he smiled as I mentioned our favourite place -which was, by the way, the main reference point for any kid in town-.

"Bet you'll like it," he told her as we crossed the street and stopped in front of a shop. It had a large front window which showed the inside, where a few boots were crowded with students from every year and house of Hogwarts; over the white door, a large sign reported _Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor_. Hermione looked at me, surprised.

"Ice cream? But…we are in November!" I grinned, gently pushing her forward, into the shop.

"Yes, but Florian's ice cream is so incredibly great we could happily eat it in the middle of a snowstorm. You will love it, I swear." I then waved to Florian, smiling.

"Hey, Florian!" I greeted, "How's it going?" He smiled back, while handing a giant cone to a first year boy who was so small he didn't even reach the counter properly.

"Good afternoon, Ron, Harry," he said, nodding his head.

"And…may I ask who this young woman is? I have never seen her around here before." I grinned, pointing at Hermione.

"She is Mrs Granger's grand-niece; she had arrived here just a few days ago from America," I explained, as she blushed slightly. Florian smirked, winking at her.

"Well, welcome here then. Whatever those two blockheads tell you, think always twice before even considering believing them or following their advice. Trust me, it's really useful with them." Hermione smiled, the corners of her lips twitching up.

"I will keep that in mind, thank you," she said, giving Harry and me a funny look.

"Is there a free booth, Florian?" asked Harry, looking around in the crowded parlour. Effectively, it really seemed like there was no room for the three of us to sit.

Florian laughed, motioning for us to follow him in to the farthest corner. There was an empty table there, a piece of paper with the words _reserved Weasley and Potter_ written on it attached to one of the chairs with Sellotape.

"You are great, man, we owe you one!" I said sitting down, quickly imitated by Harry and Hermione.

"For my best customers, this and much more!" he said, his light blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Wait for me, I'll be right back with three Special Sundaes: it's on the house today, to celebrate Ms Granger's arrival!"

I grinned as he went, and we started to talk again, chattering lightly about Seamus' Chemistry assignment.

We immediately shut up as soon as Florian brought us our ice creams, three giant sundaes with lots of caramel on it. Harry and I attacked ours immediately, but Hermione hesitated for a moment.

"Come on, it won't bite you. And Florian will get offended if you don't eat it," I said, smiling.

She nodded and took a spoonful, almost reluctantly, but then she smiled, pressing a hand to her mouth as she gulped it down.

"That's delicious!"

Harry and I both laughed at her expression of surprise, and she made a face, starting to eat. We spent the next minutes in silence, wolfing down the wonderful sweet; after a while, though, Hermione spoke.

"Harry, can I ask you a question?" she said tentatively, fidgeting with her spoon. Harry nodded, gulping a mouthful of ice cream and making a face when the cold sensation made him shudder.

"Of course," he said as soon as he could speak again.

She chewed her lip for a moment, probably thinking about what to say, and then: "Before I heard Malfoy calling you Scarface, and I was wondering, well, why that was," she said in a low voice.

Harry laughed at her words, and lifted his jet black fringe from his face, revealing the thin, bolt-of-lightning-shaped scar he had on his forehead.

Typical, only he could have had a cool scar on his forehead.

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"How can you have a scar like that? I mean, its shape is…_unusual_," she said, almost in awe. Harry shrugged, ruffling his hair and hiding the scar again.

"I was very little when it happened -two or three, I think-, so I don't remember how it happened. But my parents say we were having a walk on the hill, when I fell off my tricycle and hit my head on a rock on the ground. I didn't get hurt badly, just a cut, shaped like this. I am still wondering how it could be possible," he said, smiling. Hermione gave him a funny look, wrinkling her nose.

"At least you are lucky, it's not much evident and it is cool if someone sees it," she said; something in the slightly forced light tone of her voice made me think there was something about it that made her feel a little upset. I didn't ask, but the sensation lingered for a while as we ate our ice creams and then went out, thanking Florian for the ice creams. It was pretty warm in the shop, so when we stepped out in the chilly November wind we all shivered, tucking our hands in the pockets of our coats.

"So, where do we go now?" Hermione asked, pushing a stray curl from her face and tucking it back behind her hair.

Harry looked up at the clear sky with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Well, let me think…there's Honeydukes, Zonko's…"

"And the shops of Nocturn Alley too, like Borgin & Burkes and such. We should show her the dark side of the town too, that's the coolest part," I added, smiling and pointing at the end of the street, where a small, dark alley was barely visible.

"Well, we have time," Hermione said, smiling. "Choose where to go, and I will follow."

So we dragged her to all of our favourite places, from Honeydukes, the sweets shop, with its long shelves of glass jars and boxes full of sweets of every imaginable (and unimaginable) kind, to Zonko's, the jokes shop, where Fred and George worked every summer break since they were twelve and where they regularly furnished for their pranks; and then to the Three Broomsticks, the local pub, where we met Dean, Parvati, Neville and Luna and stopped for a while to sit with them, and to Borgin & Burkes, the antiques shop, a small, dusty place stuffed with strange things from ceiling to floor.

When we stepped out of the last shop it was almost dark, so we started to head back towards Florian's, where Harry's father was probably waiting for us to get us home.

"Hey, what's that?"

I looked at where Hermione was pointing, and I had to squint in order to see the dark shape in the dim light of dusk. It was useless, though, because I knew what it was: she had seen the old house on the hill, the one which looked like it had been uninhabited for decades; it was bent and ruined, with its crooked roof covered in moss and the fissured grey walls, and the garden around it was wild and abandoned, the grass so tall it got to the waist of whomever was so stupid to venture close to the house.

"Oh, that!" Harry said, laughing and shaking his head.

"Hermione," I said theatrically, "That is old Riddle's house." Then I burst into laughter too, unable to restrain myself from doing so.

She gave me a perplexed look, and I cleared my throat, trying to be serious.

"What's so funny?" she asked, chewing her lip. She did it pretty often, I had noticed, mostly when she was worried or when she was thinking.

"Well, you know, old Riddle kind of lost it a few decades ago, if you understand what I mean. It's fifty years he says he is a powerful dark wizard came from another universe and that he could kill us all with a single word; he wants people to call him 'the Dark Lord' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named', and when anyone comes close to the house he points some kind of stick at them and screams Avada Ke-something, whatever that means."

She was looking at me with wide eyes, incredulous and amused at the same time, a smile tilting up her lips.

"And I used to think small towns were plain and boring," she said in a low voice, more to herself than to us.

A few minutes later Harry's father came to get us, and we all climbed in the car, glad that the heater was on: with sunset, the temperatures had dropped much lower, and the wind had gone from slightly chilly to freezing cold.

As Hermione got in, she stumbled, and I quickly grabbed her arm, steading her before she could fall. She looked up at me, surprised, and I smiled, feeling my ears going red.

"Careful," I told her, quickly releasing her and backing up. Mr Potter dropped her first, and we waved at her from the car windows as we went away.

"Nice girl," Mr Potter observed as he drove to our house.

"Yes, she is," said Harry, smirking. "She and Ron seem to get along very well."

I shoved him, and as he rubbed his shoulder where I had hit him his father laughed.

"Your fault, son," he said, shaking his head and fussing with his hair.

It was incredible how much he and Harry were alike: same tall, lean building, same untidy jet black hair and same round glasses. The only difference was the colour of Harry's eyes: while his fathers' were hazel, his were bright green, just like his mothers'.

We stopped in front of my house, and I quickly jumped down, knowing I was late and not wanting my mother to bite my head off.

"Thank you for the lift, Mr Potter," I said, throwing my schoolbag over my shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Harry!"

I ran inside and found Ginny lazily sprawled on the sofa with a magazine in her hands, turning the pages with a bored look on her face. She smiled mischievously at me, and said in a loud voice: "Hi, Ron!"

Less than three seconds later, my mother's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, where have you been? You said you would have been home _more than half an hour ago_!"

I bowed my head and stepped in the kitchen as she got on: "You are an irresponsible, always making me worry about where you are and with whom, and _don't you dare tell me it's not _true!"

I half-smiled apologetically, bending down to kiss my mother on the cheek.

"You are right, I am an irresponsible git. Sorry, Mum. I'm going upstairs studying, ok?"

She shut up and stared at me in surprise, the wooden spoon she was using to stir the soup she was cooking raised in mid-air. It was kind of funny seeing her like that.

"Call me if you need me, ok?"

She nodded in silence, probably not knowing what to say: I usually argued with her when she scolded me like that, and it always ended up with her shouting and me slamming the door of my bedroom.

This time, instead, I had taken the yells without complaining, admitting I was wrong and asking for forgiveness -a thing I had probably done just once in my life, when I was six or seven-.

The thing was, for once I was happy of being late. I thought of the surprised, grateful look in Hermione's eyes when I had caught her, steadying her before she could fall, and I smiled.

Yes, just that look was worth a thousand of those yells.


	10. Chapter 9

**Hey, guys, here's the next chapter! And, this time, _on _time! School ends on Tuesday, so from now on I will have plenty of free time to write and I will post regularly; who knows, I might update twice a week if I can... :)**

**Anyway hope you enjoy reading the chapter; I did, it was fun to write some parts! As always, Read and Review (a lot!)! **

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: Of Friends and Bent Houses, Large Families and Football Matches<p>

During the rest of the week, the tension at school between Gryffindors and Slytherins grew stronger and stronger, to the point one could almost actually feel the energy snapping between the students of the two houses.

The match, the first of the football season, would have been on Saturday morning, and it would have seen the two strongest houses one against another, competing both for the old rivalry existing between them and for the lead in the House Cup.

When the last bell of Friday rang, I came out of my Art class with Ron and Harry, listening to them talking about the match.

I had discovered only two days before that they both were in our house's team, respectively as Keeper and Captain, and they were happy to have one more excuse to 'kick Malfoy's pale ass during the match', to quote their words.

Needless to say, I agreed with them, even if maybe I was a little…gentler in expressing my agreement on the topic.

Harry went straight to the football field, while Ron walked me to my locker to get all the books I needed for my homework before catching up with him.

I had agreed watching Gryffindor training session that afternoon, and meanwhile I would have studied a bit for the Trigonometry test we had the following Monday.

We were talking about the test when Malfoy strode toward us, a sneer on his face.

"Dreading the match, Weasley?" he asked Ron mockingly, opening his locker and stuffing his books inside.

"In your dreams," said Ron, throwing him a warning look.

"So, tell me, is the Mudblood your new little mascot?" Malfoy got on, acting like I wasn't even there. "You know, teams usually uses dogs or other animals as luck charms; Gryffindor is the first one I hear about which uses rubbish instead of beasts."

"Don't you dare, Malfoy," Ron growled under his breath, stepping forward.

Malfoy's sneer became more pronounced as he took a step forward too, his chest almost touching Ron's.

"Or what, Weasley? You are going to hit me?"

Ron's eyes narrowed, his irises dark with rage.

"You shouldn't fight with me, Malfoy," he warned; I noticed he was several inches taller than the blond Slytherin boy, and much stronger too.

"Why?" Malfoy asked mockingly, a glint of amusement in his steel grey eyes. Ron pushed him backwards by his shoulders, making him stumble a few feet away from us.

"Because I would kill you!"

Malfoy straightened his back, his upper lip curled in a grimace, baring his teeth.

"Try me," he said defiantly, looking ready to fight.

Something in the tension of Ron's back told me he would have picked up the provocation without thinking twice, and that he would have regretted it later. I didn't want him to get into trouble for fighting at school, especially if he started the fight to defend me from Malfoy's words.

I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Ron, it's not worth it," I said softly, not even looking at Malfoy. He looked down at me for a moment; then nodded, a small smile tilting his lips upwards.

"You are right, he's not worth it." He handed me the crutch I had put by the locker to get my books and glared at the pale boy in front of us.

"So, now it's Hand-Me-Down Weasley and Mudblood Granger? I didn't think your family could sink lower; apparently I was wrong."

Ok, now he was _really _getting on my nerves: who was he, to talk like that?

"Shut up, you little spoiled, arrogant prat!" I hissed, barely restraining myself from hitting him on the shin with one of my crutches.

"Don't you dare talking like that about him and his family; they are worth ten times you and your _noble privileges_. You are good just at humiliating people because they are not like you and your little snake friends, but you know what? I would rather die than spend _one minute _of my time with you!"

He looked a little taken aback by my sudden snap, but he hid it pretty quickly; he didn't say anything, though, and I felt sweet satisfaction in shutting his mean, venomous tongue up.

"See you on the field, Malfoy," said Ron with a smirk, not even turning to look at him as we headed outside, to the field.

As soon as we got out in the pale sun, a huge grin exploded on Ron's face.

"You were great, standing up to him like that! For a moment I thought you would have beaten him up!"

I smiled, wrinkling my nose. "You know, I had thought about it: a good hit on his shin with my crutch, and he wouldn't have played football the whole season. But that wasn't worth it."

I looked up at him, blushing a little. "And thank you, for defending me when he said…those things." He shrugged, walking me to the terraces on the side of the field.

"He has no right to say such mean things to you. Next time I hear him even daring to say your name, I swear I will beat the hell out of him," he promised, only half-joking. "And you don't have to thank me, you stood up for me when he insulted my family," he added, turning serious.

It was my turn to shrug.

"You did it for me, so we are even," I said, sitting down and putting my bag by my feet. Ron smiled, nodding once. "Yes," he said before running to the locker room, where the others were waiting for him. "We are even."

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

When I entered the locker room, loud whistles erupted from my teammates, who were all laughing and throwing me funny looks.

"Aww, what took you so much, little brother?" asked Fred, putting on his sweatshirt. I glared at him and didn't answer, opening my locker, where I had written R.W. the previous year, when I had gotten into the team. It was some kind of rite of passage among us; the lockers were covered in the initials of all the players who owned them. I took my things, then spoke.

"We met Malfoy on our way here," I said dryly, throwing on my t-shirt and soccer shoes.

Everyone shut up immediately at those words.

"What did the little snake want?" Harry asked, furrowing his brow and sitting down on one of the benches.

I shrugged, slamming my locker shut.

"Offend us, as always. He started to insult Hermione, and I almost started a fight with him. Then he offended my family," at that Fred and George looked like they wanted to go look for Malfoy and kill him themselves, "And _she _almost started a fight with him. I have to admit, she shut him up."

Dean laughed, raising his fist in the air.

"That's about time!" he said, grinning. "The girl is definitely a Gryffindor: she has the guts to stand up to a snake and defend her housemates!"

There were many agreement sounds among the team.

"And he will cry tomorrow, when we will beat them 10-0!" Harry added , standing up. Cheers followed his words, and I shook my head, smiling.

"Let's go, the field is waiting for us!"

We ran out in the cold November afternoon, and I smiled when I saw Hermione sitting there, a book in her lap, her long hair falling down her shoulders and partly hiding her face.

The fact that she had agreed to assist to our training made me happy, even if she just sat there studying: she would have brought us luck, I was sure, despite Malfoy's mocking about it.

I thought about how she had stopped me in the Entrance Hall, before I could get into trouble for starting a fight in a corridor.

I absentmindedly rubbed my shoulder where she had touched me to restrain me from jumping on Malfoy and beat the daylights out of him, and I smiled: yes, she would have definitely brought us luck.

* * *

><p>I woke up early on Saturday morning, feeling -surprisingly- excited about the match.<p>

After a quick shower, I dressed in my best jeans and red v-neck shirt and went downstairs for breakfast, singing softly to myself.

Aunt Elspeth was already in the kitchen, as always, but that morning there was a different smell in the kitchen, one I immediately recognized with joy.

"Chocolate pancakes!"

I was literally addicted to chocolate, a thing my parents, as dentists, had never fully understood; Emma was the only one, in the family, to share my passion.

I piled four of them in my plate, along with two large chocolate chip cookies, and filled a mug with coffee, wolfing everything down quickly, partly because I was starving, and partly because I wanted to go quickly. It was eight thirty already, Luna would have been there to pick me up at nine.

"Mmm, chocolate! I love you, Auntie!" Emma exclaimed running into the kitchen, with a huge grin on her face. She climbed onto a chair and piled food on her plate to the point she was almost disappearing behind it, and then dove in.

I smiled, shaking my head, and motioned to get up, when Aunt Elspeth stopped me.

"Oh, wait, dear, I have something for you," she said, taking a bag from the back of her chair and handing it to me.

I peeked inside, and grinned.

"Wow, that's fantastic!" I said sincerely, taking the red Gryffindor hoodie and the red and gold scarf from the package.

"Well, since you are going to the match, I thought you would have liked it," Aunt said, smiling.

I nodded, immediately putting on the hoodie; it was warm and comfortable, a bit too long for me, but I didn't care. It had a rampant lion embroidered on the front in yellow, and the word _Gryffindor _written on the large front pocket.

"Mione, can I come too?" Emma asked, putting on her best puppy eyes and smiling sweetly.

I shrugged, standing up and grasping the back of my chair for balance.

"Of course you can, every student can watch, along with the families. My friends are playing, I bet they would be happy to see you there too."

Emma squealed happily and quickly ate her last pancake, jumping down the chair and running upstairs.

I followed her, amused, and found her fumbling in her closet, pulling something out. I smiled when I saw it was a Gryffindor scarf, just like the one Aunt Elspeth had given me.

"We bought your hoodie and scarf together yesterday," Emma explained, trying to tie it around her neck. "And Aunt bought me one too."

I sat on her bed and motioned for her to come to me.

"Come on, I'll help you with that. Take your brush too, your hair is like mine today, I'll see if I can do something about it."

She smiled and obeyed, jumping on the bed and sitting cross-legged in front of me, handing me the brush.

I slowly pushed it through her dark ringlets, trying not to pull at the knots in the attempt to tame her bush of hair. When I was satisfied, I pulled it up in a loose ponytail, just like I knew she liked, and she gave me a smile so sweet it made my heart melt. I put her on my lap and hugged her, smiling.

"Mione, can I ask you a question?" she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

"Of course, anything," I said, nodding in her hair.

She pulled a little from me and looked me in the eye, smiling sheepishly.

"You know I have made friends at school, right?" she asked, playing with the embroidery of my hoodie.

I nodded, curious to know what she wanted to ask.

"Well, there are these three girls I get along with very well, Alice, Meredith and Alexis. Next week it's Meredith's birthday, and she said her mom gave her permission to invite Lice, Lex and me for a pyjama party."

I smiled: she wanted permission to go.

"You have to ask Aunt Elspeth for that," I said, kissing the top of her hair. She nodded.

"I have already done that, but she said I had to ask you."

I thought about it for a moment: she had never slept out, but I didn't see anything wrong in letting her go. After all, Lavender and I did pyjama parties since we were four.

"Well, I think there would be nothing wrong in letting you go. But," I added before she could interrupt me with her 'thank you's, "I want to know Meredith's mother first. Who knows, she could be a crazy witch who eats cute little girls with bushy hair," I joked, tickling her.

She jumped down, laughing, and nodded. "She always gets Mer from school, you can meet her if you come after your lessons."

I smiled, holding out her hand.

"We have a deal."

She shook it enthusiastically, and then ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Five minutes later we were downstairs, with our Gryffindor scarves tied around our necks and our coats on, waiting for Luna to come and get us.

Not much later Mr Lovegood's car pulled into the courtyard, and I smiled, taking my crutches and walking to the hall.

My balance was getting better, and I was starting to make small walks around the house without the crutches, gripping the walls or the furniture if I stumbled, but it happened very rarely.

"Aunt' we are going!" I called, while Emma opened the door.

Aunt Elspeth came to the kitchen door and smiled, waving at us.

"Enjoy yourselves, dears! And…" She grinned, raising her fist, in which she was holding a kitchen towel, "Crush those hateful snakes!"

I was still laughing when I got to Luna's father's car, but as soon as I saw then I stopped, widening my eyes in surprise.

Mr Lovegood was dressed in red from head to toe, and he had a striped top hat on his head, with the words _Gryffindor Champions _on it.

Luna, instead, had on plain jeans and a red jumper, but her hat was much, much more…original than her father's.

It looked like she had glued a stuffed lion's head to her hair, fangs, mane and everything. It was funny, though, and Emma really loved it.

We pulled in the car and drove to the school, chatting about the match; I found out that the whole school, except the Slytherins, would have supported Gryffindor, since no one wanted to see 'the snakes' winning.

When we got to the castle, the whole place was crowded with students dressed in red and gold or green and silver, many of them with their parents, siblings and other relatives. Here and there, someone intoned anthems and various school or team's songs, quickly followed by large groups of people around, without distinction.

We headed to the field, in order to find a seat in the front rows, but the terraces were still almost empty since the game wouldn't have started for almost another hour.

We found a good spot in the front, from which we had a good visual of the field, and sat down, chatting happily with everyone around. Colin and Dennis Creevery joined us, along with their parents, and then Parvati and Padma with their family, and Neville, Luna's boyfriend, a nice Gryffindor seventh year whom I had several classes with.

"Came to see Ron and Harry?" Ginny asked, plopping down beside me.

I nodded, rubbing my hands together; the wind was pretty chilly that morning, but at least it was sunny.

"Couldn't miss the opportunity to see Slytherin's defeat," I said, grinning widely.

Ginny grinned back, and we exchanged loud high fives, laughing.

After a while people started to quiet down, and a boy's voice echoed in the field through a microphone, shutting up the crowd.

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen! Today we are here under this wonderful blue sky to support the strongest teams of our school in the opening match of this season!"

A roar of approval lifted from the hundreds of people gathered there at his words.

"He is Lee Jordan," Ginny told me, pointing at the black skinned boy who was doing the commentary. "He is Fred and George's best friend."

I nodded, as the boy resumed his speech.

"The teams will be out in a few minutes, but for now let's just say that this will be an important match not only because it's the first of the year, but also because the winner team will jump forward into the House Cup classification! We all know that the teams are both very strong, and the question is: who will prevail, the lion or the snake?"

More cheers and claps followed his words, and then we all settled down and waited for the two teams to come out. I would have never believed it possible, but I was really starting to enjoy myself.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

We were all in the locker room, us boys plus Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, the only three girls in the team. We could hear Lee Jordan's commentary echoing outside, it was almost time.

"Ok, guys, listen," said Harry, standing up from the bench he had been sitting on for the last fifteen minutes, "We all know this is an important match, but we don't have to think about the Football Cup, or the House Cup. Points don't matter, ok?"

There were a few nods and hushed 'Yes's from us; we were all nervous, but determined to win.

"I think we all agree that we have to be careful around the Slytherins: we know they never play fair game, and the last thing we need is an injured mate. So, if the choice is between losing the ball and getting tackled by someone Like Gregory Goyle-"

"We fight!" exclaimed Angelina, exchanging high fives with the two other girls.

Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"So, in the end, I have only one thing to say."

He grinned and held out his hand; we knew what that meant. We put our hands on top of his, smiling, glad to resume our traditional pre-match ritual, and when we all were done, Harry shouted: "One for all and all for one: let's show Slytherin who rules Hogwarts!"

A chorus of cheers and claps followed his words, and we all ran outside, feeling invincible. We knew it wouldn't have been easy, but we would have fought to win.

"And here's the Slytherin team coming out!" Lee exclaimed, a veil of mock glee in his voice.

* * *

><p>From the other side of the field, where most of the Slytherins were sitting, came loud cheering and clapping, but no one else joined them; a few Gryffindors even whistled and booed the other team as it entered, their green uniforms blending in with the synthetic grass of the pitch.<p>

"And HERE'S GRYFFINDOR! C'MON, FOLKS, LET'S GIVE THEM THE WELCOME THEY ARE WORTHY OF!" Lee shouted, jumping on his feet. Cheers, shouts and claps boomed from every part of the terraces, suffocating the small pool of whistles coming from the green and silver patch of Slytherins.

Many students were waving Gryffindor scarves and flags, and Ginny smirked, gesturing to Neville and Seamus, who were sitting a few seats down the row. The boys nodded, grinning, and three large banners passed from hand to hand while they unfolded them.

One had a rampant lion on it, and the words POTTER FOR PRESIDENT written in the upper section, while the others said WEASLEY IS OUR KING and TWINCREDIBLE TWINS, clearly addressed to Ron and his brothers.

Parvati and Padma pointed at the one with the lion drawing, grinning and saying proudly: "We did it!".

In a matter of two minutes, the banners were waving in the cold wind, held up by our enlarged group of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and the players were lined up in the pitch, ready to play.

Madam Hooch, the PE coach, who was also the referee for that match, walked to the middle of the pitch, ball under her arm and whistle in her free hand, glaring at the two teams with her yellow, hawk-like eyes.

"I want a fair game," she warned, her voice loud enough for us all to hear. "From all of you."

Was it just my impression, or she was looking at the Slytherins when she said that?

"Captains, shake hands."

Harry and Malfoy stepped forward, stiffly shaking hands, their eyes narrow with dislike and suspicion.

"On the whistle…three…two…one…"

The whistle sounded, and they were away.

"The ball is immediately taken by Angelina Johnson -that girl is a great player, and rather attractive too, I must-" "JORDAN!" McGonagall's indignant -though slightly amused- reproach echoed in the pitch, causing several pools of laughter among the crowd, especially through the oldest Gryffindors, who all knew about Lee's crush on his classmate. "Sorry, Professor!" he apologized half-heartedly, resuming his commentary. "Neat passage to Dean Thomas, a good find of Potter, last year only a reserve-back to Johnson-passage to Fred Weasley, the boy knows how to handle a good cross-passage to Potter-tosses the ball-GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Cheers erupted from the terraces, and Ginny threw her fist up in the air, grinning. "Oh, yes! First goal in less than five minutes! We are going to crush them!" she said, holding up her part of the banner higher.

"Now Slytherin gets the ball-Malfoy leads-passage to Goyle-Tiger-Alicia Spinnet takes the ball, man, she is the fastest runner I had ever seen-to Potter-Thomas-no, Slytherin takes the ball back-Malfoy-Parkinson-Goyle-Malfoy again, he's going to score-Weasley dives-blocks the ball! Great save of Gryffindor's keeper!"

After Ron's dive to block the ball, someone in the back shouted: "Guys, let's start with 'Weasley is our King'!" Many started to sing then, clapping, and I turned to Ginny, incredulous.

"They composed an anthem on _Ron_?" I asked, as almost everyone in our group joined the singing.

Ginny laughed, nodding.

"Slytherins got the idea in fifth year, when Ron had just joined the team and was so nervous during the match he missed every ball. When he kicked the right gear in, though, we revisited it and came out with this."

I laughed, as the words of the song echoed among the crowd.

_Weasley is our king_

_Weasley is our king_

_He didn't let any ball in_

_Weasley is our king_

_Weasley can save anything_

_He never leaves a single chink_

_That's why Gryffindors all sing:_

_Weasl_ey _is our king_

The match got on like that, between cheers and whistles, triumphant anthems and moans of disappointment from both parts, as Lee Jordan's commentary accompanied everything.

At ten minutes from the end, the score was 3-3, and Gryffindor was fighting to score the last goal.

"Gryffindor has the ball-Spinnet passes-Weasley-Bell-ball to Potter! The captain is running for the goal, he is unstoppable-ready to score-Goyle runs towards him-OUCH-FOUL! FOUL!"

Goyle, a huge boy who looked almost twice the size as Harry, tackled him to the ground without even trying to hide his move, blocking him.

I jumped on my feet, ignoring the buckle in my legs at the sudden movement, followed by everyone else around me.

"Foul! Foul!" Ginny screamed, her face flushed with rage and concern, her hands gripping the railing in front of her.

"Is he ok?" Emma asked, standing on her toes to watch what was happening and gripping my hoodie.

I bit my lip, waiting, and sighed in relief when Harry stood up, wiping the blood dropping from his nose with the back of his hand and pushing his glasses up. He seemed ok, he had just hit his face on the ground when Goyle slammed him down.

Madam Hoock, meanwhile, had gotten to the Slytherin player, and was yelling at him furiously, waving a red card under his nose.

Sent off, good.

Madam Hooch then raised her hand, giving a penalty to Gryffindor. The team lined up; Fred -or George, I still couldn't tell the Weasley twins apart- would have taken the penalty. It seemed like the whole pitch held its breath as he took a run-up, kicked-

"SCORES! GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Cheers and yells raised from most of the crowd, and Ginny hugged me.

"He did it! He did it!" she squealed, making a small jump.

Gryffindors seemed to gain new strength from the last score, and they not only managed to keep the game under control for the last ten minutes, but they even scored three more goals in a row, taking the result to 7-3.

When Madam Hooch's whistle signalled the end of the game, the cheers were so loud I was sure even Aunt Elspeth could hear them downtown.

"We are in the lead for the House Cup!" Neville shouted, exchanging high fives with Seamus. "Two hundred and twenty points up, we will surely win this year!"

How could Gryffindor gain those many points during the match?

Ginny seemed to get my confused look, and she smiled. "Houses gain points during football matches, too: ten points for every goal, and a hundred and fifty points to the winner team," she explained; I nodded, easily doing the math in my head.

If before the match Gryffindor led with a hundred and twenty points, followed by Slytherin, with a hundred and five points, we were now three hundred and forty to a hundred and forty: they wouldn't have caught up with us easily.

"Come on," said Colin and Dennis Creevery, grinning and pointing at the celebrating team, "Us all Gryffindors are going down to the pitch to celebrate them, you can't miss it!"

I didn't want to miss it, either, so I took my crutches and followed my housemates down the terraces and onto the grassy field, with Emma close on my heels like a stamp on the envelope.

Ginny hugged her brothers, beaming at them as she did so, and the boys submerged the Keeper, the Captain and the Twins, the heroes of the match: Ron had saved most of the balls Slytherin threw at him; Harry had scored four of the seven goals, and Fred and George had scored the penalty and the last goal, barely five seconds before the end.

When they saw me, though, Harry and Ron grinned and pushed from the crowd to pull me with them.

"You are the best luck charm we have ever had, Ron was right!" Harry laughed, clapping the other boy's shoulder.

Ron's ears turned pink, but his smile didn't falter.

"Told you," he said, ruffling Emma's hair, "That I knew you would have brought us luck coming to the match."

I smiled and shook my head, blushing slightly.

"My pleasure," I said, shrugging.

"Oh, what a cute scene, Losers One, Two and Three altogether," said Malfoy's sneering voice from behind us.

God, why did that boy have to crop up every time and ruin our mood?

"Shut up, you prat, and go back crying with your forked tongued teammates," I said, not even looking at him.

So I was startled when he put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it with such force he hurt me. I turned sharply, ready to hit him, but someone else beat me on the action.

When she saw Malfoy touching me, in fact, Emma, my little angel, ran forward, kicking him -hard- in the shin.

He let me go, grasping his leg, and I smiled triumphantly: that was my sister!

"Don't you dare touching my sister, you snake!" Emma shrieked, her small fists closed at her sides and her blue eyes shining with fury.

The Twins laughed and put their hands on Emma's shoulders.

"Guys, we have a future little Gryffindor here!" one of them shouted, pointing at her. Emma grinned, practically glowing with satisfaction at those words, and the circle of red and gold closed again around us while we all cheered for both our victories, the one over the team and the one over Malfoy.

"Hermione, we are all going to our home to celebrate -us Weasleys, the Potters and the Lovegoods-, why don't you come too?" Ginny said, pulling me a bit from the rest of the crowd.

I hesitated for a moment, and she smiled, linking her arm through mine.

"Oh, come on, what would Ron and Harry do without their 'luck charm'?"

I smiled at her words, looking down; apparently, I was on my way to become the official mascot of Gryffindor team.

"Plus, my mom and dad have heard us all talking about you the whole week, and they are curious to know you, they would be happy if you joined us," she added, putting on her face a sad puppy look which almost beat Emma's best one.

I chewed on my lip, still unsure.

"Aunt Elspeth is waiting for us to come home for lunch," I said finally.

That was the only thing holding me back: I was afraid Aunt Elspeth could be offended if we ditched on her for lunch. Not that she would have said, of course; she was way too kind to do something like that. But still.

To my surprise, Ginny laughed.

"It's just because of that? Call her and make her come too! We all will be there with our families, why shouldn't she join us, too? Today is a great day, we won the first match of the year and crushed Slytherins 7-3, we have to celebrate!" I smiled and shook my head, but took my cell phone from the pocket of my coat and quickly dialed Aunt Elspeth's number.

Half an hour later, Mr Lovegood stopped his car in front of the Weasley's house, and I widened my eyes as I took in the building.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone building, but several extra rooms had been added here and there without a precise scheme, so it was now several storeys taller and dangerously bent in some places, making me think it was standing up just thanks to magic.

The materials of the outside walls were different, and they went from the large, smooth stones of the ground floor to the wood planks of the top floor, which resembled a tower.

The roof was made of square, dark grey slate tiles, and several mismatching chimneys were perched on top of it, some made of stone or bricks, and others looking barely more than tin flues.

A crooked handmade sign was stuck in the ground near the entrance, the words 'The Burrow' carved in it in a surprisingly neat writing.

I got out of the car, still looking at the house in awe, and Ginny caught up with me, looking up at the tall building.

"It's not much," she said with a sigh, "But it's home."

I looked at her, incredulous.

"It's not much? It's fantastic!"

She looked at me like I was crazy, or probably thinking I was kidding, but it took her less than ten seconds to realize that I was serious. She grinned, a glint of pride in her eyes as she gestured to the door.

"Shall we go in?"

When we entered the house I saw Aunt Elspeth already sitting in the living room, chatting quite happily with a short, plump woman in a flowered apron.

She had a kind face framed by soft billows of red hair, and her hazel eyes twinkled every time she smiled, making me think of Ginny, whose eyes sparkled in the same way when she was happy.

As soon as she saw us she got on her feet, first hugging Ginny and then looking at me with the kindest smile I had ever seen.

"Hello, dear," she said, guiding me to the couch where Aunt Elspeth was sitting. "You must be Hermione."

I nodded, blushing a little and feeling as though the crutches in my hands were burning. I would have done anything to look normal in that moment, in front of the several people who crowded the small room.

Mrs Weasley -there was no doubt she was, even if she hadn't introduced yet- spotted Emma just then, and her eyes lit up.

"And you, sweetie?" she asked, bending slightly to look at my sister, who had hidden behind my back.

"She's Emma," I said with a smile, trying to push her a little forward with one of the sticks. "My sister."

"A little tiger," said Ron, coming in with all of the boys.

"Yep, she kicked Malfoy," agreed Harry, grinning.

"Pretty hard, I should say," said one of the Twins, stretching his arms above his head.

"So hard poor snakey ran crying to his mommy," added the other brother, mirroring his twin's posture.

With the boys came three more people, one of whom I knew already -Mr Potter, who had picked us up after our little exploring of the village a few days back-.

I had never seen the others before, but it wasn't difficult to tell who they were: the tall, lanky man with red hair and dark blue eyes was obviously Mr Weasley, since he had an incredible resemblance with all of his sons, and the petite woman with dark auburn hair could only be Harry's mother, with those startling green eyes which were of the exact same colour as her son's.

Before anyone could say a word, Ron's stomach growled loudly, causing widespread laughter among our large group.

"Come on, let's settle down for lunch. The boys need energy after the battle," Mrs Weasley said, smiling and leading all of us into another room, a small kitchen almost wholly occupied by three long tables set one after the other and surrounded by a jumble of mismatching chairs.

We all sat down randomly; I ended up between Ginny and Emma, with Harry and Luna at the opposite side of the table.

We all were chatting about the match, commenting Ron's great saves, Harry's goals and the Twin's unstoppable joined playing. When Mrs Weasley brought food onto the table, though, we all shut up, too busy working our ways through it to talk; man, Aunt Elspeth cooked well, but that was the most wonderful food I had ever eaten!

The day went by like that, always among friendly chats and jokes; after lunch the 'grown-ups' settled down into the living room for coffee, and we 'kids', as Mr Weasley addressed to us, went outside, in the sunbathed courtyard.

The boys quickly set up a football match, but since Harry was still a bit dizzy after the hit he got during the game, he skipped, and Ginny happily took his place in the two against two game.

And jeez, she played incredibly well.

I sat on the stairs which led from the kitchen to the courtyard, supporting now a team, now the other, while Harry openly favoured Fred and Ginny. I wondered briefly if there was more between them than it actually seemed, but that thought was quickly forgotten as I found myself refereeing the game, since the four sibling seemed unable to play fair.

It went on like that until dusk, when the sun began to set and the wind chilled us all to the bone, forcing us to go back in; a few more chats and laughter, and then we all parted, waving and whishing goodbye as everyone went back to their house.

That night I was so tired I fell asleep almost instantly after I laid my head on the pillow, but I also felt so completely, wonderfully happy.

_I never want this to end, _I thought, smiling, before closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>PS. Sorry for the changes in Weasley is Our King, but I had to edit it a little to make it fit into the human world; anyway, I tried to keep the rhythm and rhymes as much as I could. Hope you liked it! :)<strong>


	11. Chapter 10

**Here is the new chap! It's longer than usual, it took a while to write, but I hope you like it ;) Enjoy, Read and Review!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: Of Hot Chocolate and Snowball Fights, Grumpy Cats and Christmas Lights<p>

Time passed incredibly fast, and before I could realize that, December was coming to an end.

It was the last day of school before the start of Christmas holidays, and there wasn't a single student who could stop thinking about that, all but ignoring the professors' lectures. The teachers themselves didn't actually seem to care, though, and they went in talking like everything was silent as usual, while instead the low buzz of our chats was a constant in each and every class.

"God, we really need two whole weeks of relax," Ron sighed, stretching his arms above his head, as we entered the Great Hall and sat down at our usual places among our large group.

"Yep, totally," I said, pushing the sleeves of my red jumper further on my hands. Thanks to Aunt Elspeth's cooking in the last month I had gained a little weight, and now it fit me perfectly, not hanging loosely from my shoulders and ribs anymore -a thing I was glad of-.

"I agree," Harry said, grinning, slumping down in the seat to my right. "I am so sick of tests and homework I might actually blow up something -Snape's classroom is the priority target, by the way-. Anyone joining me?"

A few hands shot up among a chorus of giggles, scoffs and cheers, and I elbowed him lightly, shaking my head and pointing at Snape, who was walking by in that moment.

"Lower your voice, you genius, if you don't want life-long detention," I playfully warned him, picking up my sandwich and taking a bite from it.

Our conversation stayed on the 'blowing up' topic for the whole break, as each of us suggested something we could have blown up before leaving for the holiday -the most interesting idea was, of course, the Twins', who mentioned more than once their firm intention of blowing up Mrs Norris, the keeper's hateful cat, with a firework, just for the fun of watching old Filch running around panicking and looking for the responsible.

Even Chemistry class couldn't ruin our happy mood that day, with great disbelief of Snape, who looked the whole time at us Gryffindors' smiling faces with a look of disgust and reproach in his eyes.

When the bell finally rang we gathered our things and shot out, wanting to put as much distance as we could between us and the dungeons, so we didn't notice the change right out when we got into the main corridor.

We were chatting and checking the books in our bags before splitting up for the different classes, when I looked down and saw the tiny shadows dancing in the square of pale grey light coming from the windows. I felt a smile turn up my lips as I raised my head and looked outside, where hundreds of small, white fluffy flakes were twirling in the air, spiralling around before falling to the ground.

"It's snowing!" Parvati squealed running to the window, a huge smile on her face.

"First snow of the year!" Seamus exclaimed, grinning and pointing to the snowflakes. "It brings luck! Make a wish, guys!"

We all laughed and shook our heads at him, no one made wishes to the first snow at our age, we were way too old to believe those fairy tales anymore.

"Just suggesting," he said, smiling and raising his hands like he was surrendering. Just then the bell recalled us that we had classes to attend, and we all split up and headed in different directions, hurrying up to catch up with the delay we were in.

The last two hours passed quickly, and when the last bell rang it was as though the whole school had sighed in relief.

"Goodbye, Professor, have a nice holiday!" Ron and Harry called to Professor Trelawney, running out and dragging me with them, grinning.

I had to admit, I was pretty happy of the two weeks-long break ahead of us: I really needed some rest after the huge amount of work we had had in the previous month.

Ginny and Luna caught up with us, and soon we were heading out together, following the stream of students hurrying to the doors.

The wind outside was chilly, but the cold was quickly forgotten as we saw the landscape around us: in two hours the snow had fallen heavily, and now there was a smooth, five-inches-thick white blanket covering everything -the castle, the hills, the roofs of the town below us-.

It looked almost like the scene had just jumped out of a painting, except that it was as real as the ground under my feet.

Not engaging a snowball fight on the spot seemed almost an offence, but the clouds above us were getting darker and darker by the minute, and the snow was still falling heavily, quickly covering our clothes in white ice flakes and making us shiver.

"Looks like a blizzard is coming," Ron muttered, shoving his hands further in the pockets of his jacket. "We'd better go home before it hits."

"I agree," Ginny said, looking up at the dark grey sky. "Anyway, it's too freaking cold to stay here longer," she added with a smile, rubbing her hands together.

We called our goodbyes and wishes, and then we left with the promise of phoning each other the next day to meet somewhere warm and chat.

When Mr Lovegood stopped in front of my house, the snow was falling so heavily everything was a blur of white twirls, and it was almost dark. The lights in the house were on, so Emma and Aunt Elspeth must have been there yet –no surprise, we had stopped for quite a while outside the school before heading home-.

"I'll call you tomorrow!" Luna called, waving, as I stumbled across the courtyard to the door and stepped in, closing it heavily behind me with a sigh of relief.

It was wonderfully warm inside, a blessing after the freezing wind, and I smiled, taking off my coat and hanging it to the hook by the door.

Aunt Elspeth appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling at me.

"I have some hot chocolate ready in here. Want a cup?"

I nodded, shivering, and I slowly walked to the kitchen without my crutches, keeping a hand on the wall for balance. My legs were healing faster than anyone thought possible, and I now could move around the house almost without using them -for most of the time, anyway-.

The kitchen was filled with the wonderful scent of chocolate, apples and cinnamon, and I smiled, wrapping my hands around the warm cup Aunt Elspeth was handing me and leaning against the counter.

"Apple pie?" I asked, inhaling the sweet scent coming from the baking tin onto the table.

"With custard," was Aunt's amused reply. She knew I loved that cake -how could I do otherwise?-, so she had caked it often in the last months, every time slightly varying the recipe in a way or the other.

I peeked in the tin, curiosity overwhelming me, and I raised an eyebrow when I saw that half the cake was already missing.

"You won't tell me that Emma alone could eat all of this alone, right?" I said, only half-joking: I knew that when it came to food, Emma's stomach had the incredible skill of stretching endlessly.

Aunt Elspeth laughed, shaking her head and sitting down in one of the chairs.

"No, she didn't, not alone at least. I have to admit, though, that those three cute little kids she invited for the afternoon are pretty voracious themselves. Not as much as her, but still."

I smiled, shaking my head, and only then I heard the low chatting and laughing coming from the living room, muffled by the howling of the wind outside the old house.

I had to admit, I was curious about Emma's friends. I had met Meredith's mother the previous month, when the kid had invited my sister to her pyjama party, but I had never seen the girls Emma always told me about.

So I silently walked to the living room, a hand holding my mug and the other resting firmly against the wall -just in case-, leaning against the doorframe and looking at the four girls sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace, playing some board game with their chocolate mugs and slices of cake by their sides.

Emma was laughing and chatting happily with the girl beside her; she was olive-skinned, with large brown eyes and a cloud of charcoal black wavy hair falling on her shoulders -Meredith for sure, since her mother was her exact photocopy, only thirty years older-.

The girl on the other side of Emma was small and thin, with short black spiky hair and green eyes -from what Emma had said, she had to be Alice, the one she described as elf-like, a head shorter than the others-; the last one was a little girl with a pale, round face, blue eyes and fiery red pigtails which fell straight down to her elbows -Alexis, that was her name; Emma had once told me her hair was 'orange' as Ron's-.

They seemed to have fun together, and I didn't want to interrupt them, so I went back to the kitchen and sank in one of the chairs, cutting a slice of cake and taking the book I was reading those days from my schoolbag, which I had left by the counter. It was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', one of my favourites Shakespeare's books ever. I had already read it at least ten times, but I didn't care: I just loved it too much, and I cyclically reread it every now and then just for fun.

I spent a couple of hours like that, reading and relaxing in front of the kitchen fireplace -it seemed as though that house had fireplaces everywhere, except for the bathroom and the bedrooms-, until someone came to get the three kids home and Emma came bouncing in the kitchen, probably looking for something else to eat.

I hadn't noticed, but while I was lost in the book the wind outside had stopped and the snow had evened down; it didn't look like there was an incoming blizzard anymore, a relief for all of us.

We had dinner not much later, and it was just a little past nine when Emma and I went to bed, incredibly sleepy for the early hour.

I don't know if it was because of the food, or the cold, or the awareness that I was on holiday and that I could have slept late the next day, but I drifted off to sleep at record speed, feeling safe and warm under the thick duvet.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

When I woke up, my first thought was that I had slept in and that I was late for school, but it took me only a few seconds to realize that I was on holiday -finally-.

I stretched and yawned, relishing in the warmth of my blankets for a few more seconds before eventually sitting up and running a hand through my hair, glancing out of the window.

The sky was still grey, but it wasn't snowing anymore, and everything outside was covered in white. There were five good inches of snow on the window sill, and by the look of the courtyard below, there must have been at least three times that on the ground.

Perfect day for a snowball fight, that was for sure.

I grabbed my clothes and all but ran down the stairs to the bathroom -it was still early, and no one was awake yet in the house-, washing and dressing up quickly before heading down to the kitchen.

A cup of coffee, and I was out in the courtyard, wrapped up in my coat and woollen hat, a shovel in my hands. The snow was up to my knees, and I knew it would have been a problem for Mum and Dad walking around in that freezing mess; I wanted to do something for them, even a stupid thing like shovelling a passage through the snow. And doing that at that time of the day, when no one of my brothers were up yet and no one would have seen me, seemed perfect.

It didn't took much time -I just worked a way from the kitchen to the shed where dad kept his things and from the main door to the barn we used as garage and to the road-, but when I finished and went back in, Ginny, Fred and George were sitting at the kitchen table, while Mum cooked breakfast. Dad was probably still in bed -he liked to sleep late on Saturdays and Sundays, and holidays were no exception-.

When I stepped in, my face and hands red from the cold and my clothes wet with melted snow, everyone looked up in surprise.

"We thought you were still sleeping," Ginny said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

I shrugged, sitting down; I hadn't eaten anything from the night before, and adding to that the work in the snow, I was pretty well starving.

"Woke up early, went out for a while," I just said, while Mum put two eggs and some bacon in my plate.

"Aww, made a snowman, Ickle Ronniekins?"

God, how I hated Fred and George when they mocked me like that.

I shrugged again, feeling my ears warm up -I knew they were probably bright pink by that time-.

There was no way they could know what I had been up to during the last hour, since none of the kitchen windows gave onto the front yard.

"So what were you doing out there in the cold?" Mum asked, her eyes softening a little as she spoke. I scratched my neck, attempting a half-smile and shrugging -I was doing that a lot that morning-.

"Nothing, just-" She cut me off with a gesture of her hand and walked to the door, sticking her head out to see, and I heard her laughing softly.

When she came back to the kitchen, a few seconds later, she was smiling.

"You cleaned up those passages for us," she said, placing four pancakes on top of my breakfast food, practically beaming.

Ginny grinned at me, but the twins exchanged an incredulous look before rushing to the door to see what I had done.

"You should learn from your brother, you two. You had never done anything like that to help me, never!" she said, half joking, half reproaching them.

I felt like my face was on fire, but I smiled: being the younger of six brothers, I never did anything special, because someone had always already done that; so times like that, when Mum pointed at me as a good example for any of my siblings, were rare and precious.

"Hey, I have an idea," Ginny said after a while, looking at us with a smile.

"No offense, Gin, but those words, coming from you, never lead to anything good," George said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Yes, remember that accident with the hen? That was a consequence of your idea," Fred said, shivering.

"And when we accidentally set the barn on fire with a firework? Also a consequence of your idea," George added, a worried look on his face. Ginny dismissed them with a vague gesture of her hand.

"Oh, come on, that was years ago! And what I have in mind is totally harmless!" she complained.

"You said that in those occasions, too," I reminded her under my breath, earning a glare from her.

"Anyway," she said, almost defying us to interrupt her again, "I was thinking about a good snowball fight, nothing possibly dangerous in any way."

Fred and George nodded, and I agreed too; that would have been fun.

"So, my idea was: we eat our breakfast and get dressed at top speed, then we go get Harry and we all go to the Grangers' house. Hermione can come down too this way, without having to move too much -I mean, it's her courtyard, after all-; I know she would love the idea, so don't complain. Just say yes or no."

"And you have to ask? Yes!" George exclaimed, grinning, exchanging a high five with Fred.

"Of course it's a yes!" I said, wolfing down the rest of my food and standing up. "Come on, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p><em>Tlack. Tlack. <em>

The foreign sound pulled me out of my dream, and I cracked my eyelids open just the tiniest bit. The alarm clock said it was a little past eight fifteen -it was still relatively early- and a pale, grey sliver of light was filtering through the curtains.

_Tlack._

That sound again, sharp and insistent, and close. What the heck was that?

I sat up and stretched, earning a jolt of protest from my sore muscles, and then stood up, padding barefoot to the bow-window, carefully measuring every step to keep my balance.

_Tlack._

It was coming from my window, I was sure, but what-

I climbed on the flowered cushion and opened the window, sticking my head out in the freezing morning wind.

The first thing I saw was the utter whiteness around me: the hills, the town, the roof, the courtyard…everything was covered in a thick white blanket.

The second was the small, colourful crowd of bundles of coats, gloves, scarves and hats waiting just below my window.

One of them, an unmistakeable lanky figure a head taller than the others, looked like he was getting ready to throw another pebble against the glass -that explained the noise that woke me up in the first place-.

When he saw me she smiled, waving, and took off his hat, revealing a tousled head of red hair.

"Hey, stranger!" Ron called, grinning and looking up at me. "There's a war about to be fought down there, but one of the teams misses a soldier, an unforgivable lack. Wanna save us and join our military enforcement?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his words, and I nodded: of course I would have joined them! "Give me two minutes and I'm down, Captain!" I called in mocking cheerfulness, closing the window and scrambling on my feet.

I put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a pair of warm socks, my boots and my favourite jumper, deep red with a turtleneck; I grabbed my crutches and almost ran down the stairs, the happy smile still on my face.

"Aunt, I am out in the yard!" I called at Aunt Elspeth, who was, as always at that time of the morning, in the kitchen.

I didn't wait for a reply; I just threw on my coat and woollen hat, wrapped a scarf around my neck and shot out of the door, leaving my crutches at the bottom of the stone stairs -I wouldn't have needed them, and, anyway, even if I fell the snow was soft-.

"Pick teams!" Ginny called, raising her head above her heads.

"Ginny and Ron captains!" Harry said, pointing at the two of them and grinning.

"I take Harry!" Ginny said immediately; for the ten thousandth time when I saw how I they acted around one another, I wondered if there wasn't more than their we-are-just-good-friends façade.

"I take Hermione!" Ron replied, gesturing for me to stand by him.

"Fred," Ginny said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"George," Ron responded, as his brother stood to the other side of him.

"Ok, let's build the forts. Only rule, the team whose fort is destroyed first loses!" Ginny called, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"Get accustomed to the idea of losing, little sister!" Ron mocked her, as he and George started to pile snow, pressing it to form a wall.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, _big brother_!" she retorted, as her team started to build the fort.

"You know you are disadvantaged with me on team, right?" I asked as he and George quickly raised the thick snow wall until it was four feet tall, strengthening it with handfuls of pressed ice. "I mean, I can barely stand, let alone run, are you sure I shouldn't just watch and-"

He cut me off with a gesture of his hand, smiling.

"Can you make snowballs?" he simply asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

I nodded, grinning.

"Back when I was eight, I was the best snowball-maker of my school," I said proudly, remembering the times when I was in primary school and Lavender and I engaged major snowballs fights with the rest of the kids in school.

"And how is your aim?" he asked again, pressing a handful of snow in his hands.

"I could hit a fly on a ten feet distance," I said with a smirk, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain as I started to make snowballs with bare hands.

"See? You are perfect," he said, a light pink tinge darkening his ears.

I looked down and concentrated on my work, making munitions while they worked on the fort. I was crouched on the ground, and I knew it wouldn't have been easy to stand up later, but it would have been worth it. I had always loved playing with snow, and I wouldn't have given up the fun for anything in the world; sore muscles were a great deal if that meant I would have been able to take part in the fight.

A few more minutes, and the first hit came from Ginny's hands, directly on top of George's head. It immediately became an open war, and snowballs flew everywhere indistinctly; the only thing that mattered was to hit the 'enemy'.

The funny thing was, no one ever directed the hits towards me, as though they were afraid I could break or something like that.

Wrong move.

I obviously took advantage of that fact, sending hit after hit on Harry and Ginny -I didn't aim at any of the twins, since I couldn't tell who was George and who was Fred-.

After a while, though, the teams split up, and it became an all-against-all fight, without any distinction. Ginny and Harry seemed to have engaged their little personal snowball fight, as did the Twins. So I only had one obvious target.

"Can't catch me!" Ron called, starting to run.

Jeez, he was fast, and my legs were weak enough with the effort of standing and walking without support; I really couldn't keep up with him.

He disappeared behind the fort, so I followed him there, a snowball ready in my hands, but he wasn't there; I didn't expect him to be behind me, so when he grabbed me by the shoulders I jumped, startled, and lost my already unstable balance.

Trying to get it back, I instinctively grabbed the first solid thing I found -which, in that case, was Ron's sleeve-, but it only made _him _lost his balance too, and we both fell, rolling for a few feet down the gentle slope of the hill.

When we finally stopped, we were both covered in snow and laughing like crazy, laying side by side on the frozen ground.

"Sorry," I said as soon as I could suppress laughter, sitting up and brushing some snow off my coat. Ron smiled, shaking his head.

"No harm done, no apologizes needed," he said, shrugging. Then he laughed again, pointing at me.

"You look like a snowgirl, your hair is completely white! Wait, I'll help you with that…"

He gently brushed the ice flakes from my hair, his ears turning pink as he did so, and I felt a warm blush spread across my cheeks.

"Hey, you two, you alive?" Harry called, waving from the top of the hill.

"We are fine! Coming!" Ron replied, standing up and holding out his hand at me.

I smiled gratefully and took it -there was no way I could ever get on my feet by myself, even if I was healing fast-, as he easily lifted me.

"Hey, you weigh nothing," he commented when I stood, struggling to keep my balance on the curve ground.

I shrugged, brushing more snow off my clothes.

"Never ate much back in Seattle. Didn't have much of an appetite there; now, instead, I would eat the table too," I joked, taking a few careful steps up the slope.

"It's good. You were so thin when you first came here, you almost disappeared into the desk at school. Now it's getting better, you look…healthier." Was that a compliment? I smiled at him, and we joined the others, resuming the fight.

It didn't last long, though, partly because of the cold, and partly because we were all breathless from the battle, so eventually we went in the house, chilled to the bone and with wet clothes, but happy and satisfied. There hadn't been winners or win, and we all had agreed that it had ended in a draw.

We settled down in the living room by the fireplace and spent the rest of the morning there, chatting and drinking tea to warm up after the long time spent in the freezing air.

At about lunchtime, when they all were heading out, Ginny stopped dead with a squeal, turning on her heels to face me.

"Oh, how dumb I am, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her head and clasping her hands together.

"You see, every year we organize this dinner on Christmas Eve; it's no big deal, just a bunch of friends plus our family…It's usually just us and the Potters, but Mum wanted to know if you would like to join us too, you, your aunt and little Emma. My older brothers will be there too, and their kids are more or less her age, so she could have fun…"

"We would love to," said Aunt Elspeth, passing by with a basket of freshly folded laundry in her arms.

"Thank Molly for thinking of us, dear. What time shall we be there?"

Ginny grinned, wrapping her red scarf around her neck.

"At about seven, I think, but don't worry, none of my brothers is anywhere near punctual, so people will be coming much later than that. Oh, and Hermione," she added with a smirk, pointing at my jeans.

"No complaints, dress is required for us girls."

* * *

><p>Ron's POV :<p>

I slumped on my bed, feeling exhausted: it was a little past four on Christmas Eve afternoon, and I had just finished helping my mother getting everything ready for dinner -work which included shovelling a passage through the snow in the courtyard, bringing chairs and such back and forth and hanging decorations in highly dangerous places (e.g., placing Christmas lights on the roof)-.

I lay there for a while; then I got up with a sigh and grabbed my jacket, needing some air.

The cold wind pricked the bare skin of my face and hands, sharp, but not painful, and I inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of chimney smoke and fresh snow.

It was still hours till the dinner, so I had plenty of time for a walk.

I didn't tell my parents I was going out -they wouldn't have noticed, anyway, busy as they were getting everything set-; I just walked away, towards the hills behind the house.

I lost awareness of time as I walked around in no hurry, lost in several thoughts, all of which rotated around the 'big problem' of those last few days: Hermione's present.

I didn't have a heck of an idea what to give her, but shops always stayed open until six thirty on Christmas Eve, so I would have had time to run downtown and get her something anyway; a book seemed too obvious, though, since Harry had already bought one for her, and I was swimming in the worst kind of lack of originality.

I sighed; then turned on my heels and ran back home -I hadn't noticed, but I had gone pretty far-, stopping by the shed a few minutes later to get my breath back. That was when I heard an annoyed sound, almost a grumble, coming from somewhere to my left, where we had stacked the chopped wood for the fire.

I frowned, wondering what that was, and carefully dug through the logs, searching.

It didn't take much to find the source of the grumpy noises, and I laughed as I saw it: a ball of thick, fluffy ginger fur with quite bowed legs and a squashed face.

A cat.

A pretty ugly cat, but still a cat, and probably just a little more than a kitten, despite its incredibly large size. I held out a hand to it, trying to be reassuring.

"Hey, kitty, come here. Come on, I don't want to hurt you. Aren't you hungry? I can give you a bowl of milk. Come on, kitty, come here…It's cold here…"

It glared -yes, actually glared- at me, and before I could pull my hand back, one of its large paws shot forward, slashing my skin and leaving behind four long, bleeding cuts.

"Bloody hell, that hurts! You little-" I almost shooed him away, but then I stopped. There was something I remembered about a cat, something I had seen not long before…Oh, that was it.

Hermione had a cat-shaped charm tied around her neck. And I remembered something she had said once, when we had found a stray cat wandering around the school gardens while we were having lunch there on a sunny day at the end of October. Someone -Parvati, I think- had tried to catch it, but it had obviously ran away before she could even get close.

_Leave it be, cats don't like people going near them that way. They won't come to you unless they want to. They are fascinating, so independent and proud…I had always wanted a cat, but my mom was allergic to their fur, so I never could. _

That was it: she loved cats. She had always wanted one. And even if that orange ball of fur and claws resembled more a tiger than a cat, I was sure she would have loved it, and it would have loved her.

I smiled and ran into the house, grabbing a paper napkin from the kitchen counter and pressing it to my hand, while calling: "Gin! Gin, come down, I need you!"

Her ginger head appeared to the top of the stairs, and she gave me a questioning look.

"No questions, just come down! And bring with you one of those cardboard boxes we keep in the broom closet!"

She looked confused, but she did as I asked her to, skipping down the stairs with the large box in her arms.

"What now?" she asked, her eyes travelling from me to my bleeding hand to the open door.

I grinned, showing her the way to the tiger's hiding place, and when she saw the little monster she smiled.

"Found the perfect gift, huh, big brother?" she asked with a smirk, making me blush. She could read me like an open book sometimes, but, at least, that was one of the times it got useful.

"Yep, but it doesn't seem to like the idea. I tried to get close, and it almost ripped my hand off, the little tiger. You are good with animals, they like you, so maybe if you are careful-"

Before I could finish the sentence, anyway, she had already bent over the stack of firewood and gently grabbed the cat.

The incredible thing was, it didn't complain or react like it had done with me. It only stayed still like a ragdoll and let her put it into the cardboard box. Well, hell.

"Tiger, this teddy bear? Ron, what have you done to it to make it that angry at you?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Come on now, let's see if we can smooth it up a bit. A bowl of milk, a good brush and a red ribbon will make it perfect."

I didn't say anything, just followed her back inside, still confused about the cats' strange behaviour.

* * *

><p>"What are you going to wear?"<p>

I turned and saw Emma padding to my bed, wearing her red velvet dress, grey stockings and black ballet flats. She was ready to go, while I was still wrapped up in my towel after the shower, staring blankly at the contents of my closet.

"Don't know," I admitted with a sigh, making a face. It was six fifteen, we had to leave in half an hour and I still didn't have a clue about what to wear. The thing was, I wanted to be pretty, but everything seemed awful on me. Maybe it was me who was awful, after all.

Emma walked to my side and started rummaging through my clothes, searching, her forehead pulled into a frown.

After a minute or so, she pulled out a black woollen skirt I had worn maybe two times, a pair of black stockings and a tight-fitting deep red sweater with a round neckline which showed a bit of my cleavage.

I blinked twice at her satisfied expression, wordless.

"I have stayed here a whole hour, trying to figure out what to wear, and now you come and in two minutes you find the perfect things. How-I mean, you are five! You shouldn't even be supposed to pick the clothes for yourself, how did you manage to-Oh, never mind, honey. You are a genius!"

She smiled and jumped on my bed as I quickly dressed up, clutching to the closet to keep my balance as I did so.

"You could wear those black ballet flats you have. The ones matching mine," she chirped, laying on her belly on the foot of my bed.

"No, thank you. First, it's freezing cold, and I don't want my feet to become blocks of ice, and second, I am the one on crutches, so I have the right to wear comfortable shoes. Therefore, if you don't mind, I have my beloved boots waiting for me."

She scoffed, shaking her head, while I sat on the bed and quickly tied up my favourite shoes, a pair of black, battered Doc Martens' boots my Mom bought me when I was fifteen -my feet hadn't grown of an inch in the last two years, so they still fit, to my great joy-. There was no way I would have renounced to them, even if it was Christmas.

"Tell me you will wear makeup, at least," Emma pleaded, rolling on her back and looking at me upside-down. "That lip gloss Lavender got you for your birthday, and that black stuff you put on your eyes, the one Mum always said suited you that well…"

I laughed, tugging lightly at one of her curls. "You mean, the eyeliner? Come on, Emma, you know I don't wear those things…"

She pouted, looking at me with puppy eyes.

"Please, Mione! If you wear makeup, I'll wear that hairband with the velvet red bow you wanted me to! Pretty please?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes, but then nodded.

"Okay, you win. Come on, I'll smooth up your hair a bit, bet you haven't even brushed today…"

Ten minutes later we were downstairs, putting on our coats and scarves and checking the bags we were taking with us, filled to the top with presents for the Potters and Weasleys. The previous day, we had spent the whole afternoon shopping for gifts, coming back home with our arms full of packages wrapped in brightly coloured paper.

I buttoned up my coat and ran a hand through my hair: I had decided not to pull it up in a ponytail as I usually did, and it was tumbling freely down my back, fiery and tangled as ever, only in a slightly studied way, not too bushy or ruffled; I was not used to it, it was strange.

Aunt Elspeth looked at me with pride in her eyes, nodding as she collected a bag in her hands.

"Beautiful," she said, smiling. "So beautiful."

I smiled and looked down, biting my lip, as a warm blush spread on my cheeks, and I took a bag, reaching for the door.

"Shall we go?"

We arrived to the Burrow just a few minutes after seven; it was snowing again, so we quickly took the bags out of the car and hurried to the brightly lit house, where Mrs Weasley was waiting for us on the doorway.

The view of the large house under the snowfall was incredible: it seemed as though every light in the Burrow was on, and a warm yellow glow shone behind every window; there were twirls of smoke coming out of the chimneys, and thousands of small, colourful Christmas lights decorating the edges of the roofs and every windowsill, bringing to everyone's mind that it was a joyful day that needed to be celebrated the best way possible.

If I thought the inside couldn't be better, I was wrong: the fire was lit in every room, and everywhere it was a triumph of red candles and deep green garlands; red and gold ribbons were twirled around the handrail of the stairs, and a large Christmas tree sat in the brightest corner of the small, crowded living room, its branches covered in tiny lights, red Christmas balls and golden festoons.

Those colours reminded me of Gryffindor, and it only made me feel even more at ease than I already was.

A chorus of 'Merry Christmas' followed our arrival, and we then went to hug everyone -Mr and Mrs Weasley, the Twins, Ron and Ginny, and the Potters-, leaving our presents in the already dangerously high stack under the Christmas tree.

Not long after that the missing Weasley brothers arrived: Percy with his fiancée, Penelope, Charlie, the one who worked in Romania, and then Bill, the oldest of them, bringing along his blonde, gorgeous French wife, Fleur, and his two daughters, who looked more or less Emma's age.

Victoire was six, and with her pin-straight pale blond hair and icy blue eyes she looked like a little porcelain doll; her four-years-old sister Dominique, on the other hand, was her exact contrary, with fiery red hair -Weasley's hair- pulled back in twin braids, hazel eyes and freckles all over her nose.

It took less than nothing to see that my sister seemed to get along quite nicely with them, and they quickly disappeared behind the couch, giggling and peeking at the huge amount of presents gathered under the tree.

The small, cosy living room was incredibly crowded -even more than it was after the football match the previous month-, with sixteen people squeezed in the two couches and several chairs, plus the three kids running around playing, but I soon found myself laughing and talking in my small group of friends, surrounded by Harry, Ginny, Ron and the Twins.

At eight we moved to the kitchen, taking our seats around the long, irregular table -which looked like it had been made out of every single desk and flat surface of the house-, and simply enjoyed the delicious food and company, warm and content.

At eleven thirty we moved back to the living room, taking with us the three little girls, who had fallen asleep hours before, worn out by the generous dinner and the late hours; we left them curled up against one another on one of the couches, and then we settled down around the room, us kids on the carpet by the Christmas tree, the others sitting randomly in every corner.

Gifts passed around from hand to hand, each of us squinting at the names on the cards to understand which was destined to who, among the rumpling sound of shaken boxes.

When finally every package had been delivered to the right person, we started to open them, curious; I felt like a little kid myself, ripping the colourful paper and uncovering the content of the gifts.

There was a homemade cd from Ginny, with all of the songs from Taylor Swift -whom we both loved- in it, a delicate silver bracelet from Aunt Elspeth, a large box of Honeydukes sweets from the Twins, and a collection of the books from The Lord of the Rings -which I had never read- from Harry.

Last, there was a soft, shapeless package wrapped in maroon paper with my name written neatly on it.

I opened it, curious, and when I saw the content I almost burst into tears in front of everyone.

It was a hand-knitted jumper -a Weasley jumper, like those Molly had made for Harry and each of her children-, made out of soft, periwinkle blue wool, with a white H on the front.

She had made one for me too, like she considered me part of the family.

I looked up at Mrs Weasley, almost at loss of words, and she smiled at me, her hazel eyes sparkling.

"Thank you," I just said, my hands clutching the jumper tightly.

"You are welcome, dear. You know, when I saw that colour among the balls of wool at the shop, I knew it was perfect for you. I hope you like it."

I nodded, smiling.

"It's perfect."

Not long after Bill and Fleur left with their small family, and the same did Percy, who lived in London and had a two-hours-long drive ahead of him to go home; Charlie said goodbye not much later as well, excusing himself because he had to visit friends the next morning before going back to Romania in the late evening.

The rest of us stayed, though, the adults drinking coffee in the kitchen, while us kids laid lazily in front of the fire, playing games and talking quietly.

After a while, Ron tapped my shoulder lightly, gesturing towards the narrow hall and holding out his hand to me. I nodded, and accepted his help, getting up and following him. He was smiling, his eyes lit by a curious expression I couldn't decipher.

When he saw my confusion, he shook his head.

"Do you really think I didn't get you a present?" he asked, taking his coat.

"I couldn't keep it in the house, so I left it in the shed. Mom doesn't know anything about it -she would kill me if she did-, so Ginny and I snuck it outside before she could notice. Come on, this way."

I took my coat and followed him outside, in the chilly air of the late night.

It was still snowing, the small ice flakes dancing gracefully in the dark before landing on the frozen ground; everything was silent apart from the gentle whistle of the wind, making the yard and the hills look almost magical.

Ron led me to the shed behind the house and carefully pushed the battered door, which opened with a loud _creak_.

"Come on, it won't bite you…I think," he joked, pointing at a square shape in the dim light. It was a large cardboard box, like the ones I used to pack my books in Seattle, but there was something on the sides-holes?

I gave him a funny look, but he kept his smirk on his face, looking both amused and impatient. I chewed on my lip for a moment before slowly opening the box, carefully peeking inside.

There was something orange and furry curled up in the farthest corner, something with a long, bushy tail, pointed ears and bright yellow eyes.

A smile slowly found its way on my face as I bent and gently pulled it up in my arms.

A cat. A cat with a red bow around its neck.

I looked at Ron, speechless, while the ball of fur started to purr in my arms.

"I found it near here, and I thought you would have liked it. I remember you once said you loved cats, so it seemed, I don't know, a good idea. I hope it was."

Even in the dim light coming from the house I could see his ears were turning of an impressive shade of dark pink, and I nodded, biting my lip to fight back tears. That was the most wonderful, prefect gift anyone ever gave me, in my whole life.

I scratched the cat's head, and it closed its eyes, nestling in my arms and starting to purr even louder than before.

"How are you going to name him?" he then asked, pointing at the cat.

I smiled, finding my voice again.

"So, it's a him?" I asked back, quirking an eyebrow.

Ron nodded, smiling.

"Apparently."

I looked down for a moment, running a hand through the pet's soft, thick fur, thinking; the perfect name came to my mind almost immediately, and I laughed to myself, shaking my head. It was ridiculous, but it fit perfectly.

"How about Crookshanks?" I asked, pointing at the cat's bowed legs.

Ron grinned, burying his hands in his pockets.

"It's funny, and it suits him; I think that's good."

"Yeah, I think it is too," I said, putting Crookshanks back in the box and gathering it into my arms.

"Thank you, Ron," I then said, blushing under his gaze. "It's-a wonderful gift."

He smiled, shrugging.

"I am glad you like it." I nodded, holding the box tighter to my chest. Then, almost without knowing what I was doing, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek quickly before joining Aunt Elspeth and Emma, who were -luckily- coming out of the house in that exact moment.

I said bye to Harry and the others, who were standing at the door, and waved at them as I climbed into the car, my legs for once wobbly for something else than my still weak muscles.

What had I done? I didn't even have the courage to look at him again, so I kept my eyes low, fixed onto Crookshanks laying in the box.

"What's it?" Emma asked sleepily, peeking inside.

"A cat," I said, trying to focus on what she was saying. "It's a present-Ron gave it to me."

"Good idea he had" Aunt Elspeth said softly from the front seat.

"Oh, yes, it really was," I said absentmindedly, looking out of the car window as we backed away from the Burrow. My cheeks were still burning, and my skin tingled all over, like I had a fever; my head was swaying slightly, and I felt oddly light, like a balloon.

What the heck was happening to me?

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

Thanks God, she had liked the cat. I had to admit, the little tiger was being adorable with her, all purring and cuddling; it was obvious it liked her. How could it do otherwise?

She put it back into the carton and then took the whole box in her arms, holding it tightly against her chest, looking affectionately at the orange, furry ball inside. She had snow in her hair, and her cheeks were flushed with the cold air; seeing her like that, a single word flashed for a moment in my mind: _beautiful_. There was no way to deny that.

I quickly chased that thought away from my mind: what was I thinking? She was one of my best friends, for Heaven's sake!

I heard people moving inside, someone was probably leaving, we had to go-

Then she was close, closer than she had ever been before, and for a moment all I could smell was the sweet scent of her hair, all I could feel was the light pressure of her lips on my cheek.

It lasted only a second, and before I could even realize it she was already gone, half-walking, half-stumbling to the door, where her aunt and little sister were waiting for her.

She waved goodbye and got into the car, not once looking back at me, but I knew she was blushing furiously, I could see her flaming red cheeks glowing in the dim light.

I watched the car disappearing in the dark, and I smiled, lightly touching with the tips of my fingers the still burning spot on my cheek.

Maybe it had been an hallucination, or maybe I had gone crazy all of a sudden, but I didn't care.

I had never felt so light before.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, here's the good news: I am leaving for England! I will spend the next two weeks visiting Cambridge and London and gathering information for college -and of course breathing a bit of the humid, wonderful British air, yay!-, so, since I will spend the days walking around, I will have time to write only in the evenings, when my feet will be sore from walking a marathon and I will be knocked out by hours of running around. <strong>

**The thing is, I am sure I won't be able to publish regularly, so I will probably update only once between tomorrow, 6/15 and 7/2, the day I will finally be back in Rome. Sorry, guys. **

**Anyway, how was the chapter? Loved? Hated it? Let me know, I love your reviews!**

**Jez xoxo**


	12. Chapter 11

**Ok, guys, I don't have excuses for the delay, I'm sorry... :(**

**Anyway, here's the chapter, I hope you like it! As always, Enjoy, Read and Review!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11: Of Stomach Flus and Unexpected Help<p>

Hermione's POV:

Christmas holidays passed way too fast, among mornings spent playing with snow outside and long afternoons spent at someone's house or at the Three Broomsticks, the local pub, doing homework together.

No matter what, we always found a way to hang together, the Weasleys, Harry and I; occasionally someone else would join our group -Dean and Seamus, the Patil twins, or Luna and Neville, who were basically attached to the hip-, but most of the time it was just the six of us, laughing and enjoying each other's company when it was too cold to set a foot out in the snow.

On Christmas Day I received an email from Lavender; she wouldn't have been able to come and visit me for New Year's celebrations because both her brothers were sick with a particularly nasty flu, and Tommy would have made up a little hell if she went to England without him.

I wasn't as sad about it as I thought I would have been, though: after all, she would have come during Spring Break for Emma's birthday, just three months later.

The truth was -and I felt a little bad when I realized that-, I had completely forgotten about the plans we had made back in autumn for Christmas holidays, and I already had a full schedule for each and every day of holiday, which included lots of homework and tutoring (Ginny needed a hand in Chemistry, and Harry and Ron apparently forgot -purposefully- to open their History books since September, which meant they were behind the rest of our class of a few centuries of wars and conspiracies), and some quality time with Emma, who was starting to complain about all the time I was spending with what had become my second family.

So, before I could really realize that, it was the fourth of January, and I was in the corridors with the rest of the group as we waited for the bell to ring.

"I can't believe we are here _again_," Ron groaned, stuffing his books in the locker. "I mean, weren't the holidays supposed to last _two weeks_? I barely remember five days of them! That's unfair!"

He had been complaining about it since the very moment we walked through the castle's doors, to the point Ginny and the Twins had given up and left early for their classes just to get away from him.

I rolled my eyes and smiled at his thousandth complaint, checking the books in my bag twice before closing my locker with a faint _clang_ and turning to him.

Things had been a bit awkward between us for a few days after Christmas Eve, but before New Year's everything was back to normal, and I stopped worrying about that.

"Come on, it's not that bad," I said, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and leaning slightly on my crutch -my legs had gotten better and better during the break, so I had dismissed one of the sticks, with my great joy-.

He scoffed, ruffling his already messy hair and furrowing his brow.

"Don't tell me you are happy we are back at school, because I wouldn't believe that," he warned, shooting me a half amused, half reproachful look; it was a dare I couldn't miss.

"Believe what you want," I said with a smirk, turning my back on him and taking a few measured steps forward, knowing he would have followed me shortly. "But I would start to move if I were you; you don't want to get late to McGonagall's class on first day back, don't you?"

My smile grew wider as he quickly got up with me in a few long strides, a slightly guilty look on his face.

McGonagall always threatened him of life-long detention if he didn't find a remedy to his chronic delays, and if there was a teacher Ron _really _was afraid of, that was our English Professor and Head of the House; we all teased him about it, and it seemed I was the only one able to do so without ending up pissing him off. Obviously, I took shamelessly advantage of that, bickering with him all the time; he never told, but I suspected he found it as amusing as I did.

"Aw, come on, you can't be happy about coming back to school!" he complained, easily catching up with my quick pace, as we headed to our first class.

I raised an eyebrow at him, not answering his question. I was starting to wonder if he was just being petulant about that, or if he was doing that just to annoy me.

Knowing him, he was probably trying to do the latter.

"If you hate school, Ronald, that doesn't mean other people should do the same," I said, knowing he hated being called by his full name.

He shot me a glare, but I smiled, slipping in my seat and greeting Harry, who was already sitting in the desk behind mine.

Ron usually sat beside him in the double desk, so I was surprised when, instead, he slipped in the empty seat by my side, grinning.

"What are you doing?" I asked under my breath as Professor McGonagall entered the classroom.

Ron shrugged, taking his book from his bag and putting it on the desk.

"Annoying you, of course. You know it's my job," he replied in mock surprise, like it was something obvious.

I bit hard on my lip to restrain myself from laughing out loud at his words, and shook my head, looking down at my book and trying to concentrate onto the teacher's lecture.

"Shut up, you git, and start taking notes. This time I won't pass you mine, no matter how annoying you become, I swear."

Of course, by the time we were heading to lunch together, after fourth hour, I was handing him my English notebook , wondering how he could always get his way when he asked me for homework help.

"Hermione, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met, do you know that?"

I shoved him, barely making him sway, and glared at him.

"Yeah, whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. "Save your compliments for the next test, they will be more useful to you then; maybe McGonagall will fall for your _charm_," I put particular emphasis on the word, stressing it mockingly, "And step over the inevitable F you will get if you don't start paying attention in class."

"Aw, that was low," he said with a grimace, taking lunch for us both on a tray and walking to Gryffindor table, where most of our friends were already sitting.

"How was the day?" Ginny asked as we sat across from her and the Twins, still bickering.

"As usual," Harry answered before I could register what she had said. "Boring lessons. Mom and Dad arguing about everything."

"Oh, shut up!" Ron and I said at the same time, glaring at him, and he smirked.

"You have my sympathy," Ginny said with a laugh, throwing me a bread crumb.

We spent the rest of lunch that way, and even Chemistry, Latin and Art seemed to pass quickly; so, before I could really realize it, we were already out in the corridors, waving our goodbyes as we split up to go home.

Luna's father dropped me home as usual, but when I walked through the door I noticed something was wrong: Aunt Elspeth was standing by the phone in the hall, a worried look on her face, nervously twisting the phone thread as she listened, nodding and speaking briefly every now and then.

"God, I am so sorry…Is there something I can-Yes, yes-I don't know-I am so sorry, Marion…Yes, I promise…Just let me arrange a few things before-Alright. Alright. Take care. Bye."

"Is something wrong?" I asked her when she hung up; her eyes were shiny and sad, and she looked very, very old.

She sighed, looking at her hands for a moment before speaking.

"Marion, an old friend of mine, has just lost her husband. He died last night of a heart attack."

I made a grimace of sympathy, as the wound of my loss started to ache again: I remembered way too clearly what losing someone dear felt.

"We-we both attended Hogwarts at our time-same class, always together; we shared the same desk for eight years…She is destroyed, I am worried about her; William and her, they met at school, they have been together their whole lives. And now that he is gone she's alone, they didn't have any children-"

"You should go to her," I said softly, lightly putting a hand on her shoulder.

"It's what she asked me to do, but she lives in Bath, I can't leave the two of you alone-"

I shook my head, smiling.

"You don't have to worry about that; Mom and Dad used to go away for a 'parent trip' every year; they stayed away a week or so, and I looked after Emma. I have done so since I was thirteen, it's no big deal. Plus, she will be willing to cooperate and behave, there's nothing to worry about."

She smiled and hugged me. "Thank you, honey, but are you sure…?"

I nodded, hugging her back. "One hundred per cent sure, Aunt. Go pack your bag now; do you want me to call a cab to bring you to the train station?"

"That would be perfect, dear, thank you. I will be down in fifteen minutes, an old lady like me doesn't need many things…"

Half an hour later the cab was in our front yard, and Aunt Elspeth was walking out the door, her bag in hand.

She hugged us both before leaving, promising that she would have called us as soon as she got to her friend's house in Bath; after a hundred recommendations she finally decided it was time to go, so she hugged us again and got in the cab, waving as the car pulled out of our yard.

We waved back, and when the black cab disappeared behind a hill Emma looked up at me, a question in her blue eyes.

"Why did she seem so worried about us?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

I smiled, taking her hand and leading her in, towards the kitchen.

"She doesn't know how good we are when we are alone. Now, how about a cup of hot chocolate? Outside it was freezing…And I can bake a cake, it won't be as good as Aunt Elspeth's, but I am sure it will be fine."

"Chocolate and walnuts?" she asked hopefully, smiling as she climbed on a chair.

I laughed and nodded, collecting everything I needed for the cake and giving her a cup of the omnipresent hot chocolate Aunt Elspeth always made for us when we came back from school.

"Ok, chocolate and walnuts. Come on, you can stir the dough if you want; but wash your hands first."

That night, when Aunt Elspeth called, she told us she would have stayed there for a few days, probably until the end of the week, so that she could attend the funeral and then help her friend with everything before coming back. It was no big deal for us, so we reassured her again and again, promising that we would have been fine, and that she didn't have to worry about us.

I had to admit, it went pretty well those first few days: we left every morning for school with Mr Lovegood; then at the end of lessons I picked up Emma with him and Luna, and they dropped us home, as usual. I did my homework in the living room while Emma played on the carpet, and then I cooked dinner, put the monkey to sleep and went to bed myself after cleaning up a bit.

I should have known things never got well for more than a few days in a row, especially when I was around.

On Thursday night, I woke up to the sound of running footsteps in the corridor; it wasn't a loud noise, but I had always been a light sleeper, and the house was usually so quiet it startled me.

The alarm clock on my bedside table told me it was a little past two o'clock, and I frowned: why was Emma out of bed at that time of the night?

I stood and walked out quickly, worrying a bit and telling myself that she probably just went to take a glass of water; when I popped my head in the corridor, though, the light in the bathroom was on, and a sickening noise was coming from the half-open door.

I almost ran there, and found Emma bent over the toilet, throwing up what remained of her dinner.

I knelt on the tile floor and held her hair back, murmuring soothingly as she emptied the contents of her stomach; her forehead was covered in beads of sweat, and it was incredibly hot under my hand.

When her retching eventually stopped, I stood up and helped her washing her face with cold water and brushing her teeth; then I grabbed a few items from the medicines cabinet over the sink and took her hand, leading her back to her room.

She had a fever, I was sure, so I put her back to bed and tucked her in under a pile of blankets as she curled up on her side, shivering.

I put the thermometer under her tongue, and it didn't take much for it to shoot up to a high number, making my gut clench with worry: Emma had never been sick since the accident, and it had always been my mother who took care of her before that, so I was frightened of not knowing the right thing to do.

I gave her something for the fever, but for the stomach part there was nothing I could do; so I spent the night walking back and forth from the pink room to the bathroom every ten minutes as Emma felt sick again and again, and reading her fairy tales in the moments she felt better, but not enough to sleep yet.

It was only in the early hours of the morning that Emma finally drifted off to sleep, and the sun was starting to come up by then, its light pale and grey from behind the curtain of clouds.

I was beyond the simple concept of _tired_, to the point that I didn't even feel like sleeping anymore , so I stretched my muscles, sore from spending the night in the plastic chair by Emma's bed, and walked to my room, taking a few items from my closet.

I didn't want to leave Emma for long, so I just washed my face, pulled my hair back in a ponytail and threw on a pair of old jeans and the jumper Mrs Weasley had made for me, which I adored and wore every time I could.

Then I walked back to the pink room, fiddling with my cell phone; Emma was obviously in no condition to go to school, and I would have stayed home with her; so I should have told Luna not to come to pick us up that day, and then call the school too…

I sighed and typed the text for Luna; it was half past six, and she usually woke up early, so she probably would have read it in a matter of minutes.

**Not coming 2 school 2day, Emma's got flu and I'm staying with her. Tell the others not 2 worry, ok? Good luck to you and Ginny 4 yr Biology test!**

I killed some time making myself a bowl of cereals for breakfast and tidying up a bit; then, at seven thirty, I called Emma's school to explain the situation to her teacher, who said it was not a problem, and that she wished Emma to be ok soon.

There was no need to call my school, first, because as I was a student I couldn't excuse myself from classes, and second, because when Luna told them, Harry and Ron would have probably explained everything to Professor McGonagall.

Then I sat again in the small chair by Emma's bed, and I must have drifted off to sleep for a while, because I woke up a little before eight, startled, when my phone buzzed in my pocket, telling me I had a text.

I expected it to be Luna's, or Ginny's, probably, but it wasn't: it was Ron's.

**Luna told us, how r things going?**

I smiled; was he worrying about Emma?

I typed a quick reply:

**She's sleeping now, but we spent a hell of a night. She's got stomach flu. **

After a minute my phone buzzed again, and I frowned.

**I'll come and help.**

What? Did he mean, right then? Was he crazy, running from school to come here?

**U r not. U won't ditch, we r fine! **I wrote back, feeling both amused and annoyed.

**I am, and u need help. Gimme 30 min and I'll be there, **was his reply.

**U r not! **I wrote again, frowning; I knew there was no point in insisting, that he would have come anyway, but I couldn't let him win just like that.

**I am! C u in a while!**

I sighed and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my eyes; why the heck was he so pig-headed? Ditching classes to come here and help me – what help could he give me with Emma's flu, anyway? – it was crazy!

But after all – even if I would have never admitted it, especially in front of him – I was glad he was coming.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

It was still a few minutes to the first bell, so I could easily sneak out of the main door without any professor noticing it; I stuffed my books back in the locker and closed it, then grabbed Harry's shoulder.

"Mate, I need you to cover me," I said in a low voice, pointing at the English classroom at the end of the corridor.

He sighed and fiddled with his hair as he always did; then smiled.

"Let me guess: date with a certain girl who didn't show around here this morning?"

I shoved him, glaring; he and the others were starting to get on my nerves with their jokes on the topic.

"You git, you know perfectly it's not like that," I muttered darkly; he seemed to understand it wasn't the right moment, and raised his hands.

"Sorry, mate, just kidding," he said with a half-hearted apologetic smile.

"Anyway, I'm going to see if I can help her somehow; if Emma's sick she is probably freaking out right now. So, will you cover me with McGonagall and the other professors?" I was running short of time, it was two minutes to the bell, I had to go.

"What should I tell them?" Harry asked as I turned and started to walk away.

"Whatever you want: that I have been eaten by a giant spider, that I have chicken pox, that I left for Mars last night; I don't care, you just have to give an explanation for me obviously _not_ being here. Luck!"

Then I slipped in the door and walked quickly across the yard, where some students were still lingering; no one would have noticed me in the mass of dark coats, even if I was walking in the opposite direction as the others.

Two minutes later I was running down the hill, smiling as I left the school behind; it was about three miles to Hermione's house, but it was no big deal: the football training I had had in the last months had strengthened me a lot, and I was pretty sure I would have made it all in a good half an hour without too much of an effort.

When I eventually reached the old Granger's house I was short of breath, but I had made it in just a little more than thirty minutes, a good time for me.

I ran a hand through my hair and walked to the door, knocking three times as I always did; I heard the sound of footsteps, and after a few seconds Hermione opened the door.

Her eyes were circled by dark shadows, like she hadn't had any sleep – which was probably exactly what had happened –, and she was pale, like she was sick herself. She had her Weasley jumper on, the one Mom made her for Christmas, and a pair of faded jeans that looked a good size too large for her, making her appear even smaller than she already was; her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, but a few curls had escaped it, and they were brushing her eyes and face as she tried to push them back without success.

"Hi," she said quietly, stepping aside so I could go in.

"How's she?" I asked in a low voice; she seemed restless, and she was worried, I needn't to be Freud to notice that.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"She spent the whole night between her room and the bathroom, throwing up every ten minutes or so; I gave her something for the fever, and it went down for a few hours, but I think it's raising again…Now she's sleeping, she was totally worn out after a whole night up, and I feel…useless."

She was about to freak out, I was sure, and I could understand her: she was alone, her aunt was away, and she probably hadn't dealt with her sister when she was sick before, at least, not alone.

I would have been frightened if I were in the same situation as her.

I put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at me, her brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Hey, you don't need to worry, ok? It's just a flu, nothing more, and it will probably be gone in a day or two at last. If she hadn't been sick for a while, that's good news for now. For the fever you can give her medicines again as soon as she wakes up – or before, if there's the need to – and it will be ok; you just need to make her eat something and she'll be fine," I assured her.

With six siblings, I had seen many more stomach flus and such that I ever wanted to, and I had grown up watching Mum taking care of them when they were sick, so I was pretty used to it, and I remembered what to do.

She nodded and stifled a yawn, closing her eyes for a moment; she was tired after spending the whole night up, she needed sleep as much as her sister.

I followed her upstairs, in Emma's room; the kid was sleeping under a pile of blankets, with Crookshanks curled up in a ball to the foot of her bed, purring softly. The curtains were pulled close, so that it was almost dark, but I could see that she was very pale. No wonder Hermione was so worried about her; it was odd to see her so quiet.

She sat in the small pink plastic chair by the bed and took her face in her hands with a sigh, resting her elbows on her knees; she looked exhausted.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" I asked, crouching down next to her.

She shook her head, chewing on her lip.

"I don't know…If she feels sick again-"

"I can watch her while you sleep, and wake you up if she needs you," I replied, smiling.

She smiled back at me, a tired smile that somehow managed to light up her face entirely, and nodded once.

"Thank you, Ron," she muttered, standing up and heading to the flowered armchair in the corner of the room. It took her maybe two minutes to fall asleep in it, and I smiled seeing her curled up on the cushion, finally peaceful.

There was an extra blanket folded to the foot of the bed, so I picked it up and carefully placed it on her shoulders; she seemed to notice something, because she snuggled deeper in the soft cushion, but she didn't wake up.

Then I sat down on the plastic chair by the kid's bed and scowled at the orange cat, who – was it even right to refer to it like a person? – was glaring at me, his yellow eyes fixed on me.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm just trying to help," I muttered, wondering if I was going mad all of a sudden, talking to an animal. "And remember it was me who gave you a home in the first place."

When he turned and went back to sleep, though, I couldn't tell whether it was a good or a bad sign.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

I didn't know how long I slept, a couple of hours probably, judging from the way my back and neck were aching, or maybe a little more.

I was still tired and drowsy, and my eyelids were heavy; I was just starting to consider the possibility of going back to sleep for a while, when a soft laugh awoke me completely.

I opened my eyes, and the scene in front of me made me smile instinctively: Emma was sitting up, her back resting against the pillows, and she was laughing as Ron, who had a puppet made out of what looked like one of my sister's old socks on his hand, played with her.

I wondered how he could get her to like him so much; she practically adored him, even more than the rest of the Weasleys, if that was possible, and he seemed to like the little monkey back.

"Slept well?" Ron asked, turning his head towards me and smiling. I nodded, slightly taken aback: how did he notice I was awake? I hadn't made a single noise!

"Mione!" Emma squealed happily, sitting a little straighter in the bed; she really looked better, and her cheeks had a faint rosy tint that made her look much healthier than before.

"Hey, sweetie, how are you feeling?" I asked, standing up and walking to her bed, plopping down next to her.

"Much better," she said, resting her head on my shoulder as I smoothed her hair. "When I woke up I wasn't feeling sick anymore, and the fever is going away already. I'm hungry, though; Ron just made me drink a glass of water to see if the sickness was really gone."

"I can make something in a few minutes; thank God Aunt Elspeth had just done the shopping before leaving. No chocolate for today, but how about some bread with jam? You need sugar, and that would be perfect now. And in two hours we can have lunch."

She nodded eagerly; knowing her, she was probably starving.

"I'll help you," Ron offered, standing up with a grimace. "I have been sitting here for hours, I need to move a bit."

"I'll be right back, sweetie," I told Emma, kissing her on the forehead and quickly walking out in the corridor.

"Puppets made with old socks?" I asked Ron mockingly as we headed to the kitchen.

He shrugged, grinning. "Fred and George used to do it all the time when Ginny was sick, and she loved it. I just thought she would have liked it as well," he said, like it was the most natural thing of the world, playing with my sick sister.

"She did, I can assure you," I said, rummaging in the cupboard looking for cherries jam, Emma's favourite. "I warn you though, she already adores you, she might decide she wants to become part of your family too, and then you would find yourself with another sister before you even realise it. It's at your own risk."

He peeked into the cupboard as I continued my search, and he immediately found the jar I was looking for; he made the move to take it, and to do so he leaned closer, probably without even realising it.

The same strange, tingly sensation I had had on Christmas Eve's night came back, and I bit on my lip hard; why was it so difficult to be close to him sometimes?

He stopped for a moment, giving me a strange look, his brow furrowed like he was confused, like he felt that strange thing too.

But that wasn't possible, wasn't it?

It took me a few more moments, but eventually I broke eye contact and slid away, taking the jar from his hand and methodically spreading some jam on a slice of bread; I could feel his gaze on me, but I didn't lift my eyes.

Eventually, though, I had to look up; his ears were pink, which meant he was embarrassed too, and it made me smile a little.

"Ready for second round?" I asked, putting the bread and a glass of water on a tray.

He nodded, looking somehow relieved, and followed me upstairs.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

I stayed there the whole afternoon, almost until dinnertime; then I ran home. I was sure the school had called Mom to tell her I was absent that day, and I didn't want to arrive late and give her one more reason to be angry at me.

I got there a little earlier than usual – a rare thing for me – and I quietly opened the rear door to the kitchen; Mom was cooking and singing softly to herself, a thing which gave me a little hope. Maybe – and just _maybe_ – she wouldn't have freaked out that evening. I didn't really expect it, though.

Since she seemed not to notice me, I started to lay the table, a task that usually belonged to Ginny, the only one who was generally willing to volunteer to help Mom with 'house work'.

"Minerva called today," Mom said after a while; I winced instinctively as I heard the first name of Professor McGonagall, and grimaced: the storm was coming.

"She told me that you were not in school, and that Harry justified you with some kind of 'stomach flu issues', or something improbable like that."

I fussed with my hair, looking for some kind of excuse in my head.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I know I shouldn't have ditched, or that I should have told you, but-"

She raised a hand, cutting me off; then – a thing that absolutely left me speechless – she smiled, her eyes soft and filled with something I couldn't exactly recognize, something between affection and pride.

"Let me finish, Ron, before asking for forgiveness. I was angry, of course, but when Ginny and the boys came home they told me why you weren't in school today. And yes, you are right, you should have told me, because if you told me what you were going to do, I wouldn't have complained."

Ok, that wasn't my mother, I was sure; the real Molly Weasley would have been there yelling at me with smoke coming out of her ears, not talking to me peacefully like nothing had happened.

"Oh, come on, don't look so surprised. Pass me that plate, would you?"

I accomplished, still guarded, and she smiled.

"Thank you, dear. Anyway, I know I usually complain and scold you at this point, but this is different. Since she came here, things started to go better: you have good marks in every subject, and you are less irritable, happier; I have seen you smile more often during these last three months than in the whole year. She has helped you a lot, Ron, and she's good for you; I'm not angry because now that she needed you for once, you have been there to help."

I felt my ears warm up; damn blush, why didn't anyone else in my family turn that shade of red whenever embarrassed or anything?

In that moment my brothers rushed down, laughing, Ginny jumping two steps at a time to catch up with them while she tried to snatch something from Fred's hand.

"Give it back, Fred! I swear, this time I will kill you! Don't you dare! It's late already!" she threatened, eyes shining with fury.

I recognized the item Fred was clutching as Ginny's bag, a tiny white thing mom knitted for her a couple of years back, the one we called her 'date bag', since she always wore it when she went out. What was she late for? Did she have a date? She had gone out with Dean for a while in the fall, but she hadn't been with anyone ever since.

Not until that day, at least.

If she was so angry at the twins for stealing her bag, whatever she was going to do must have been something important to her. That meant, one more reason to check. She was my little sister, after all; I had to know who she went out with, so that I could break his nose if he hurt her in any way.

"Getting ready for a date, Gin?" I asked, my tone light; I had to admit, I did it partly to protect her, and partly to meddle in her business.

She chewed on her lip and didn't answer, grabbing her bag; was it just my impression, or she seemed very nervous?

"Gin?" I asked again, starting to feel a little worried; who was she dating, that I couldn't know of?

_Not a Slytherin_, I hoped. _Please, anyone, but not a Slytherin._

"Don't freak out, Ron, ok? I'm almost seventeen, and I am free to go out with anyone I want; you can't say anything about that, no complaints, no scenes, no anything. Got it?"

Ok, I was about to do exactly what she didn't want me to do: freak out.

"Who?" I asked as the Twins disappeared in the living room; I suspected they knew, and they didn't want to be there when she told me.

"He told me during lunch, today; I guess he had tried to ask me out for a while, but never found me alone. Remember, you like him. A lot."

Oh, no, that couldn't be; he couldn't have really done that to me, he knew how protective I was of Ginny when it came to boys fancying her…

"Please, don't freak out, ok?" she asked again, her eyes pleading. "You know how long I have waited for this to happen. I mean, I have liked Harry since my first year, and now-"

Perfect. My best friend had a date with my little sister. Absolutely wonderful! I wished I had him in front of me in that exact moment, so that I could tell him what I thought of the great idea he had!

But I already knew that Harry liked Ginny; he never told, but I could see how he looked at her at school. And I knew he would have never hurt her, not intentionally, anyway; of all the boys in that damned town, if I had to choose someone to be with Ginny, I would have chosen him, for Heaven's sake!

It was…_odd_. But, they had been walking in circles around each other for a while, and I had known for weeks that something alike would have happened sooner or later. I just hoped it would have happened later, though; _much _later.

I would have been the worst brother ever if I told her something about it, so I attempted a smile.

"Gin, I won't freak out," I assured her; she didn't have to know how close I had come to that in the last ten seconds. "Just – have fun, ok? And if anything goes wrong, tell me and I will beat him up, no matter if he is my best friend."

She smiled and hugged me, looking happy and relieved.

"Don't worry, Ron, it will be perfect. Wish me luck!"

"Luck," I said, ruffling her hair. She slapped my hand and fixed her long red strands with her fingers, glaring at me; I laughed and stepped back, just as someone knocked at the door.

It was embarrassing, but not as much as I thought it would have been; at least, I wasn't angry at Harry for asking my sister out. Not really, however.

Later that night, I was in my room, sitting at the window and looking at the dark fields outside without really seeing them. I couldn't get my mother's words from my mind; they continued to dance in my head, despite my efforts to think about something else – _anything _else.

_She is good for you…I have seen you smile more often during these last three months than in the whole year…_

She was right, like never before: Hermione was good for me, like the sun was good for a growing tree. We bickered every other day, that was true, but it was almost a game to us; she enjoyed those fights over homework and notes as much as I did, I could see it in her eyes when we argued. We had come to spend most of the time together, to the point I was starting to need her like I needed air, without even fully realising it; she somehow managed to balance me, her rationality and good sense keeping me from doing something stupid – a thing that happened much more often than I wished.

And then there were those strange sensations, that tingling all over my skin and the impression of floating without control I felt when she kissed me on the cheek on Christmas Eve, or that very afternoon, when we had been so close in the kitchen, even if that was just for a few seconds.

She was my best friend, just like Harry was, yet it was a completely different thing, I knew that.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair; why did things always have to be that complicated?

I sat there for hours, lost in thought, until I finally made up my mind: I knew what I had to do.

The next morning I sent a text to Hermione to know how Emma was feeling; she said the kid seemed to be fully recovered already, a thing I was glad of, and she thanked me again for being there. Like I could leave her right when she needed help.

The rest of the weekend passed slowly as I tried to convince myself that what I had decided to do was not a suicide mission, all the while trying to ignore Ginny, who continued to smile dreamily, reminding me of Luna, talking to Mom about how well her date went.

And finally Monday came, and I woke up nervous like never before. For once, though, I was glad it was a school day.

The morning passed in an incredibly ordinary way, as Harry, Hermione and I walked from class to class, talking and laughing as always. I wondered if I really wanted to risk that laughter and happiness, but I had made up my mind days before: it would have been useless to wait longer.

I would have asked her out – or, at least, I would have tried – that afternoon; I didn't even know how, and thinking about it only made me more nervous. So I patiently waited for the school day to end, all the while hoping it would have gone well.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

"So, what are you doing now?" Ron asked me as I stuffed my books in the locker.

I smiled, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

"I promised Emma I would have dropped by her school and taken her to the playground," I explained, heading out. She had recovered incredibly fast, and I had agreed to let her play for a while, on the condition that she wouldn't have exaggerated and that we would have stayed only half an hour before going home. After all, it was still pretty cold outside.

"Do you mind if I join you? I can't stand hearing Ginny talking about Harry anymore, or I will freak out, and I would like to say hi to Emma."

Was he talking seriously, coming with me as I took my baby sister to the playground?

I looked at him; yes, he was serious.

"Of course I don't mind," I said, glad that I wouldn't have had to sit on a bench alone as I looked after Emma. "She will be happy to see you too; I told you, she adores you."

Fred and George – who I could finally tell apart, after months – gave us a lift to the kindergarten, and Emma immediately spotted us in the crowd of parents and siblings in front of the school; no need to say, she was beyond happy to see Ron, who had almost become a brother to her.

We walked to the playground, which was – luckily – just a few yards from the school, and Ron and I sat down on a bench as my sister ran to her friends, who were also there with their parents. She wasn't that shy anymore; she had opened up a lot since we arrived in England, a thing I was incredibly glad of.

Since she was safe under the careful surveillance of Meredith's mother, I looked around, observing the scene before me.

There were kids everywhere, on the slides and swings, and running around trying to catch each other; they were happy, and thoughtless, and absolutely adorable. I recognized some of them as Emma's classmates, and waved at a few parents I knew from the birthday parties I had taken Emma to in the last months; I always wanted to check who I left my sister with, even if Aunt Elspeth assured me they were good people she knew very well.

"You know, there's a thing I had been thinking about for a while now," he said a few minutes later; he wasn't looking at me as he spoke, and for some reason my heart tightened a bit with nervousness.

"Shoot," I said, chewing on my lip and wondering what he wanted to tell me.

He looked at me for a moment; then looked down again, blushing slightly.

"I think it's – how about going out?"

My eyes widened a little; was he really asking – no, that wasn't possible, he must have been joking.

"We _are_ going out," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

To my surprise, he smiled and looked up, that time holding my gaze.

"You know, the fact of being together _outside_ isn't exactly the definition I was thinking about," he said, his ears turning darker and darker as he spoke. He seemed as embarrassed as me, if not more, but that didn't matter.

He was really asking me out. On a date. I was imagining everything, there was no other explanation. It seemed incredibly real, though, to be just a dream of some sort.

And then: "Do you have plans for dinner?" he asked.

I felt the corners of my lips turning up in a smile, and I shook my head, blushing.

"Nope," I said in a low voice, feeling shy all of a sudden, a thing I wasn't used to, not with Ron at least.

"I'm completely free."

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter is the date! Update due on Sun 24th! :D<strong>


	13. Chapter 12

**Ok, I know I promised I would have updated yesterday, but this chapter took longer than I expected to come out; anyway, it's longer than usual, so I hope you will forgive me :)**

**So, here it is, the Date! I hope you enjoy it; I had lots of fun writing it, really. As always, Read and Review!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12: Of Dates and Old Bikes, Foul Snakes and Unfair Detentions<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

" I don't know what to wear!"

I was in my room, still wrapped in the bath towel, standing in front of my closet and ready to freak out.

Almost the whole contents of my chest of drawers were spread on my bed, but it seemed to me that finding something, _anything _nice to wear that night was an impossible mission. It was as though everything made me look like a broomstick with bushy hair, a thing that, I knew, was irrational: I had gone out with Ron, Harry and the others a million times, and I never had that kind of trouble; I just threw on the first thing I found in the closet and went.

That was different, though, and the fact that I had never been on a date before didn't help.

Of course, when I was a freshman I went to the Christmas Ball with that exchange student from Bulgaria, Viktor Krum, but there had never been anything more; we were just friends, period.

"Mione, it's six thirty!" Emma called from the threshold with a huge grin on her face; the fact that I had a date with Ron delighted her, and she had spent the whole time bouncing around the house and chatting at top-speed about how much she liked him.

She looked at me, and her face fell almost immediately; she frowned, cocking her head to the side.

"Why aren't you dressed up yet? He will be here in, like, ten minutes!"

I sighed, plopping down on the bed.

"I know," I said, chewing on my lip.

"So, what's the problem?" my sister asked innocently, climbing up beside be and rummaging through the mess of clothes on the bed.

"You can put on those bootcut jeans you like so much, the dark blue ones – they are beautiful on you –, and then something…red, or blue, those are the colours that suit you better."

She lifted her big blue eyes on me, smiling encouragingly, and I hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

"Have I ever told you that you are a genius, honey?" I asked, grabbing the jeans and one of my favourite jumper, of a deep midnight blue.

"Yes, a few times," she said casually, grinning. "Now hurry, he will be here soon! And put on your makeup, like at Christmas; you were wonderful that night!"

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

"Aww, ickle Ronniekins has got a date!" Fred cooed mockingly, dropping down on my bed. I glared at him, rubbing my hair with a towel to dry it quickly; I already was nervous, I didn't need him to make things worse.

"Shut up," I muttered, throwing the wet towel at him and hitting him straight in the face with it. He didn't seem to care, though, and threw the towel on the floor, grinning broadly.

"So, little brother, who is she? Tell old Freddie which girl finally succeeded in getting a date with you; if I'm not wrong, you have never went out with anyone here at school, right?"

His expression suddenly changed in one of mock terror, and he jumped on his feet, his hands in his hair.

"Oh, don't tell me it's that Ravenclaw girl, the one who sent you all those Valentines last year, what was her name…"

I scoffed, glaring at him and trying to shoo him from my room, without much success. He loved to remind me of that girl, who pestered me for months in sixth year. A nightmare; I still shuddered at the thought of her following me around.

"No, thanking God it's not her," I said, giving up on my efforts to get him out and taking a white shirt from the drawer.

"So, who…?" Fred's voice trailed off as he thought, and I looked away, buttoning up the shirt and throwing on a grey hoodie.

"Ronnie…" he said, clapping my shoulder with a huge grin, "Isn't she, by chance, some beautiful Gryffindor bookworm with an American accent?"

I felt my ears go red at his words, and I pushed him away, ruffling my already ruffled hair and running out, jumping the steps to the hall two at a time.

"Georgie!" Fred called, close on my heels, as George poked his head out of his room. "I won the bet!"

George groaned, handing a five pounds bill to Fred as he passed. I would have discussed with them later the fact that they had been betting on who I was dating; I was almost late.

"You are too predictable, little brother," he told me, as Ginny appeared on the landing of the upper floor and ran down to join up, probably curious to hear what all that noise was about.

"What bet?" she asked, jumping the last three steps and looking curiously at the Twins.

"Ron's going out with Hermione!" they chorused, and Ginny squealed; it was in these situations I really wished I was an only child.

"Really?" she asked me, her eyes gleaming; I nodded curtly and grabbed my jacket, opening the door.

"If you are done talking about my private life, I'll go," I said, glaring at the three of them. "See you!" I called, rushing out in the yard.

The problem was, since I still wasn't eighteen – for only two months, but still – and didn't have a driving license, I couldn't borrow the Twins' car, and I couldn't pick Hermione up on foot. So, I had supplied with an old bike I found in the shed; it was still good despite its age, and worked pretty well.

Dad helped me fixing it during the weekend – of course, he didn't know why I suddenly felt the urge to go around on a bike – and it was now almost as good as new, more or less.

I jumped on it and ran off, taking a shortcut across the hill; if I was late because of Fred and George, they would have paid for that.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

I had just come out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang; I felt my heart jump in my throat, and I laughed of myself: I, Hermione Jean Granger, was nervous about a date. I could do well with school and exams, but when it came to going out with someone, the chicken in me came out easily.

"He's here!" Emma called jumping down the bow-window of my room, where she had been sitting for the last fifteen minutes watching the yard and waiting to see Ron coming.

"Good luck!" she said happily, bouncing by my side as I came down the stairs, careful not to trip on the way. That would have been the first time I went anywhere beside my house or the Weasleys' without taking my crutches, and that only added to my nervousness.

Aunt Elspeth was in the kitchen, and she poked her head out as I passed, smiling.

"Beautiful," she said with a nod, looking at me. "Well, have fun!"

She was way too happy to know I was going out with Ron, especially after I told her how he helped me when Emma was sick and she was still away.

"Thanks. See you later," I replied, taking my coat from the hook and slipping it on; then I took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling.

"Hey," he said, looking slightly embarrassed, his ears pinker than usual.

"Hey," I said back softly, blushing.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment; then Ron smiled.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

I nodded, stepping outside and closing the door behind me.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we descended the four steps to the yard; it was already dark, and I didn't have any idea of where he could take me in a walking distance.

"It will be a surprise," he said with a smirk, his eyes lit up with amusement.

There was a bike laid against the wall, and I froze for a moment as he got on it and looked up at me.

"Are you ok?" he asked, a little furrow forming on his brow as he spoke.

I nodded, attempting a smile. "It's just – I've never learnt how to ride a bike. I'm too clumsy I guess, and…" I trailed off, blushing.

He smiled then, outstretching his hand toward me.

"That won't be a problem," he said reassuringly. "You just hold on tight, and I'll do the rest."

I was still hesitating, and his smile softened.

"I won't let you fall," he promised, his voice so earnest it was impossible not to believe him.

I nodded, carefully climbing behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist; I would have never admitted it, but I was more than a little afraid. The last time I ever got on a bike I was seven, and it didn't exactly go well – I fell and broke my left wrist – so I didn't trust those things much.

But I trusted him, so it would have been ok.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

The very same moment I felt her arms wrapping around my waist my heart skipped a beat, just to double its speed a moment later; she was holding onto me tightly, as though she was afraid to fall – which she probably was.

"Ready?" I asked her, smiling and turning my head a bit. She nodded against my back, her arms tightening a little more around my waist, and I started to pedal, carefully holding my balance so that I wouldn't scare her. It didn't take much to get into the town, and by then the shops were starting to close, their lights switching off behind the large windows.

I took a roundabout way to our destination, trying to confuse her and taking advantage of the fact that she didn't know the inner part of the town well. Eventually, I took a turn and stopped right in front of the Three Broomsticks, grinning.

"We have been headed here all the time?" she asked, widening her eyes, as she got down. "I didn't recognize the streets we passed in…Which way did you take?"

I smiled, shrugging. "Secret of the trade," I answered, opening the door for her to step in. She smiled at my gesture, blushing slightly, and I followed her inside. The pub was packed, as always at that time, and it looked as though there wasn't a single free seat. But, I had an ace up my sleeve.

Madam Rosmerta, the owner of the place, was a good friend of my mother, and she knew all of us Weasleys since we were still in nappies – that meant, she always had a place for us, and especially for me, since for some reason I had always been the one she liked the best.

So I had called her on Saturday, practically begging her to keep a table for me on Monday in a good place, a thing she assured she would have done.

She spotted me and smiled, pointing at somewhere near the fireplace in the back of the room; I grinned back and nodded once, leading Hermione to the place.

It was a small table for two right by the fireplace, in a warm, quiet place far from the noisy counter, where Rosmerta usually placed her 'golden list customers', as she called them (a.k.a. her friends).

Hermione gave me a puzzled look.

"You have a reserved table," she observed, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I shrugged, smiling. "Oh, I know people who know people," I said, playing indifference as we sat down.

It was warm by the fire, and she took her coat off, folding it on the back of her chair. It was a good thing she had turned for a moment to do so, because, I knew, I was staring.

Her hair was tousled from the cold wind outside, and it fell down her shoulders and back like a walnut-coloured waterfall; the deep blue of the jumper she was wearing highlighted the paleness of her skin and brought out the faintest pink tinge in her cheeks, turning her skin into cream and roses.

She turned back, and her gaze met mine for a moment, a hint of shyness in it. She had put on her eyes that same stuff she was wearing at Christmas, and it made them look darker somehow, almost liquid.

She blushed, but didn't avert her gaze; her teeth sank in her lip, a nervous habit of hers I had learned to recognize.

"Good evening! May I take your orders?"

I forgot how Rosmerta had a knack for interrupting moments.

We ordered, both of us a bit awkward for a few minutes, but then we started to talk again, and the embarrassment melted away.

Time flew by, and soon we were heading out, once again in the cold January wind.

"Ready for next destination?" I asked as she climbed behind me on the bike, more confidential this time. She nodded, and I once again took the roundabout way, turning often into secondary streets to confound her, making it hard for her to tell where we were going.

When I stopped in front of Florean Fortescue's ice-cream shop, I knew she was confused: the windows were dark, and the parlour was empty, looking as though it was closed.

"Why are we here?" she asked me, pointing at the dark place with a bemused look in her eyes.

I smirked, laying the bike against the wall and lifting a heavy vase by the door, taking the key hidden underneath. The previous summer, when Florean broke his arm falling from a ladder, I helped him with the shop every day for the whole holidays – and, of course, I refused to let him pay me for the job. So when I dropped by his shop during the weekend and asked him, he agreed to do me a favour for that night.

"Is this a secret of the trade too?" she asked, amused, as we stepped in the dark parlour. I grinned, taking her hand and leading her behind the counter, where Florean had placed a small booth with two chairs; a few candles created a circle of light around it – Florean must have left them lit closing the shop a couple of hours before, judging from the amount of melted wax around them.

"How did you…?" she trailed off, looking around in surprise. I smiled, holding out the chair for her, and she blushed, sitting down. I took two giant sundaes from the refrigerated counter and placed them onto the booth, while Hermione's puzzled gaze followed me. I wondered if she knew of that cute little furrow that formed between her eyebrows when she focused on something or when she was confused; she seemed unaware of those little things she did, of how enchanting they made her.

"Did you really do all of this," she said after a while, not looking at me and gesturing at the empty shop. "Just – just for…?"

I smiled, stretching out my arm and brushing the back of her hand with my fingers.

"For you?" I asked softly, smiling. Was she doubting that? I would have done much more for her, but that was the best I could organize in forty-eight hours of planning. I nodded, looking in her eyes. "Yes, I did."

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

When we walked out, a little later, it was even colder than before, and thick clouds were gathering in the sky, threatening more snow. I climbed behind Ron on the bike and wrapped my arms around his waist once more, resting my cheek on his back; I could faintly hear his heartbeat under my ear, and I instinctively held him a little tighter as he pedalled in the dark streets to take me home.

Warmth spread in my chest having him so close; for some reason, being with him like that wasn't awkward, and the whole evening went incredibly well. I felt happy, and light as a balloon, a sensation that was new to me.

It started to snow just a few minutes after we left the ice-cream shop, and by the time we reached my house we were both covered in white, fluffy flakes.

We hurried to the door, laughing and half-stumbling on the frozen ground; Ron brushed my hair, trying to free it of some of the snow, without much success.

He was incredibly handsome, with his freckled cheeks flushed from the cold and his blue eyes bright with amusement…

Laughter died in our throats as our eyes locked; there was no Madam Rosmerta interrupting the moment now, though. Just he and I, alone, no one else…

He gently tucked a stray curl behind my ear, brushing my cheek with his thumb in the process; my skin felt hot under his fingers, like he had burnt me, but I wasn't feeling the pain yet. He caressed my cheek again, and my heart started to beat so fast I was surprised I was still alive, while my legs felt weak and wobbly, like they were made of jelly; I slowly closed my eyes as he drew closer, our faces merely inches apart.

He nuzzled my cheek, pressing his lips against my skin for the briefest of seconds; then he kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my other cheek, his touch always so light, like he was afraid I would have shattered in his arms if he only held me a little tighter.

I was struggling to stay upright, and it seemed I had forgotten how to breathe; I had to force air in and out of my lungs, or I would have melted right there, in front of my door.

And then, with the softest of touches, his lips found mine, and everything else was blacked out, everything that wasn't him, the feeling of his hands so delicate on my face, of having him so close.

I don't know how long it lasted; maybe only a few seconds, maybe several lifetimes, I couldn't be sure as time seemed to have stopped in the exact moment he kissed me.

It was so sweet, and soft, and absolutely perfect, just like every girl dreams her first kiss to be.

When we parted, I slowly opened my eyes, and I found his blue ones staring into mine, a tender look in them. He was still cradling my face in his hands, and he gently ran his thumbs across my cheekbones, sending goose-bumps on my skin. I smiled, hesitating for a moment before standing on my tiptoes and kissing him again tentatively , my hands instinctively going to the back of his head.

He kissed me back ever so gently, while his hands threaded in my hair, pulling me closer, tighter to him, so that I couldn't move away. I didn't have the intention of doing so in any case.

When we eventually broke apart, we were both breathing shallowly, and it seemed I wasn't the only one to be affected by the kiss anymore.

He pressed his lips to mine one last time, his touch light as a feather, and he smiled.

"You know, I think I forgot to tell you how breathtakingly beautiful you are tonight," he muttered, twirling one of my curls around his finger.

I blushed, and his smile got wider.

"I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, caressing my face. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I whispered back as he took his bike and disappeared in the dark fields.

I didn't know a heart could bear such an intense emotion.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

It felt as my heart had grown wings and was about to fly right out of my chest; I couldn't help bit grinning as I sped in the dark fields towards my house, snow falling steadily now, covering my clothes and hair in white.

Every light was off in the house, which meant everyone was sleeping by then; good, no nosy siblings asking questions I wouldn't have wanted to answer.

I left the bike in the shed and silently walked in the hall, hanging my jacket before tiptoeing up the creaky stairs to my attic room, careful not to make too much noise on my way there, even if I felt so light it was as though I could have floated right to the landing in front of my door.

By the time I changed into my pyjamas and went to bed it was almost midnight, yet sleep was still far from getting me. I laid there with my arms behind my head, looking at the snow twirling slowly out of my window, while images from the previous hours crowded my mind: the way she looked that night, so beautiful she took my breath away, the feeling of her small hand in mine as I led her inside Florean's shop, the sensation of her lips moving tentatively against mine as I pulled her closer. The sweet scent of her hair, the way her small figure seemed to fit perfectly in my arms.

I closed my eyes, relishing in those memories; just a few hours, and I would have seen her again. It was the first time in my life I was looking forward to going to school, a thing that made me smile. I didn't think it would have ever been possible for me to long for something so badly; yet there I was, counting minutes.

The night would have never passed fast enough.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

The next morning I woke up even earlier than usual, the sun just starting to rise behind the thick grey clouds, shining on the snow-covered fields.

I stayed in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the fluttery feeling from the previous night still lingering in my stomach; I never thought just one simple kiss could affect someone so much.

Eventually I got up, stretching my arms above my head and walking to the bathroom; that morning there was no wobbliness in my legs, no weakness in my muscles. Maybe, just maybe, that would have been _the day_, when I could finally walk through the doors of the castle on my own feet, without extern support.

The warm water of the shower took away the last bits of sleepiness, and when I stepped out I felt better than I had in several months. I towel-dried my hair quickly, and then padded back to my room, singing softly an old songs by the Chicago I loved.

It took just a few minutes to dress up – God blesses school uniforms – and I picked up my grey Gryffindor jumper, smoothing it over my waist and arms until it hung perfectly; then I stepped out and descended the stairs just as Emma stepped out of her room, yawning, heading to the bathroom.

"Why are you dressed up yet?" she asked me sleepily, stopping for a moment to look at me. "It's early!"

I shrugged, bending to kiss the top of her ruffled head. "Don't know; I just woke up early today. I'll see you down for breakfast in a while, ok?"

She nodded, and I headed to the kitchen, from where an inviting smell of coffee and chocolate pancakes was already coming.

"Good, morning, Aunt," I said, smiling and pouring myself a cup of coffee. I sounded overly cheerful even to my own ears, but I couldn't help it; I just felt so happy that morning.

She smiled back at me, pushing a plate with a stack of chocolate pancakes in front of me.

"How did the date go?" she asked, looking at me from above her newspaper. "I heard you coming home yesterday, but as you immediately locked up in your room I didn't bother you."

I felt my face warm up, and I knew I had blushed.

"It went…well," I said, smiling. "Really well." It was such an understatement it almost felt as a lie.

"Well…" Aunt Elspeth shook her head, smiling. "Ah, how I wish I was still seventeen," she sighed, pouring herself another mug of coffee with cream. "You know, after my first date I had exactly your same look on my face."

I blushed even more, if that was possible, and in that moment Emma came down the stairs bouncing, a rubber band in her hand and a pout on her face.

"I'm trying to braid my hair, but it gets on slipping from my hands," she complained, handing me the rubber band.

I smiled, taking it from her hand.

"You sit down and eat your breakfast, I'll think about your hair," I said, finishing the last bite of pancakes and angling my chair so that I was facing her back. I quickly braided her hair, careful not to tug at her curls; they had grown several inches in the past months, and they now brushed the middle of her back, just like mine did. I suspected that was why she insisted on letting them grow, even if she would have never admitted.

"Done," I said, gently pulling at the long braid resting on her back.

She smiled at me, pushing her fringe from her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, grinning, before gulping down her milk and wolfing down the rest of her breakfast; then she jumped off the chair and ran upstairs to get her schoolbag.

I followed her with a sigh, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and – a thing I rarely did – put a little makeup on my eyes; nothing too noticeable, only a little mascara.

Emma sat on the toilet as she waited for me to be done, watching me intently.

"How did it go yesterday?" she asked innocently – too innocently, I noticed.

"Fine," I replied, eyeing her suspiciously; she was smirking, which meant she knew something.

"Anyway, I didn't wake you up when I came back home, didn't I?" I asked, faking indifference and picking up my bag.

She stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before replying, too quickly: "Oh-no, no, I was asleep far before you came back."

Which meant she had probably been sitting on her bow-window the whole evening and had seen Ron and I coming back and-well, everything else.

That was just my supposition, though.

"Come on," I told her, throwing a quick glance at my watch. "Luna's father will be here in a matter of seconds."

It was with a new kind of self-conscience that I stepped in the school that morning, carefully balancing each of my steps to prevent myself from falling, but keeping my head held high as I reached my locker. I placed my hand on the metallic door and smiled triumphantly as I took it in: I had done it. I had really been strong enough to get free of the burden of my crutches, to stand on my own again.

A soft laugh escaped my lips as I stuffed my books in the locker, and I turned my head a little as I did so, looking for a familiar head of tousled red hair in the crowd of students.

"Hey."

I turned as I heard the soft greeting coming from behind me, and there he was, a smile on his lips and a shy, yet tender look in his blue eyes.

I smiled back, feeling a little shy myself, and chewed on my lip as I closed the locker shut with my hand.

"Hey," I said back, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder and taking a step towards him; he widened his eyes as I did so, his gaze, I knew, looking for the crutch that was always within hand reach from me.

It took him a moment to understand, and he grinned broadly, his eyes bright.

"You don't wear crutches anymore!"

I nodded, grinning back, and the next moment his hands were on my waist, and he was lifting me off my feet and spinning me in the air in one swift movement, under the curious eyes of several students.

I laughed at his exuberance, and he set me back on my feet, his ears becoming pinker than usual; he was still smiling, though, something that resembled pride in his gaze.

He reached out for my hand, gently intertwining his fingers with mine, and I blushed, looking down at our joined hands, as my heartbeat sped. It felt incredibly right to be close to him, no traces of the awkwardness I feared: just us, nothing else.

We walked to English still holding hands, drawing on us many curious stares – stares which multiplied once we entered the classroom, where everyone stared openly as we sat down in our usual seats; of course, they were used to seeing us together, but that was different.

A thing I noticed immediately, though, was the fact that focusing was pretty hard when I had him so close, sitting right beside me in the double desk; it was as though electricity buzzed between us, making me want to look at him, to inch closer to him. So concentrating on both staying right where I was _and _taking notes took much more of an effort than I thought.

Yet I wouldn't have wanted to seat anywhere else than right there when I was, squeezed in the desk with him, struggling to focus on McGonagall's lecture about modern poetry and its main subjects .

He walked me to each of my classes, every time keeping me close to him – holding my hand, or gently wrapping his arm around my waist, as though to steady me in case I tripped –, a thing that, I had to admit, I liked way too much. I liked the feeling of his arm around me, the knowledge that, walking around the school with me tucked in his side, he was claiming me, showing everyone that he was with me.

I saw more than one girl looking at us in ill-concealed envy, and one girl from Ravenclaw, a tiny sixth year with curly dark hair and almond-shaped green eyes, literally glared at me as I passed, looking murderous.

I made a mental note to myself to ask Ron who she was one of those days; she seemed to be pretty upset at the sight of us.

At lunch we all snuck into the library, two at a time, taking advantage of the fact that Madam Pince, the terrific librarian, was off-duty that day. We all sat at the long wooden tables among the bookcases, Ron and I, Luna and Neville, Harry and Ginny, and Fred and George with their almost-girlfriends, respectively Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, from the football team.

We talked and laughed, making much more noise than we would have dared to make with the librarian patrolling the place, and the break ended way too soon for my taste.

Next hour was Chemistry, so Harry, Ron and I almost ran away as soon as the bell rang, fearing what Snape would have done to us if we arrived only a minute late to his class; we luckily didn't have to discover it, for when we got there the classroom was still almost empty.

Those days it was freezing in the dungeons – it was like being stuck into a giant refrigerator – due to the low temperatures outside, and the Professor's total aversion to the idea of lighting a fire in the fireplace (which was covered in dust and cobwebs, giving me the idea it hadn't been used in ages) didn't make things any easier.

I shivered as soon as I entered the room, pushing the sleeves of my jumper over my hands in an attempt to warm up a bit, and I blushed slightly as Ron gently rubbed my arm, slipping in the seat beside mine. It seemed as though Harry had lost his desk mate in every class we shared, a thing he didn't seem to mind, though.

The hour passed painfully slowly, and by the time the bell rang we were all chilled to the bone – us Gryffindors, at least; the Slytherins seemed to be perfectly at ease despite the cold.

We walked out quickly, looking forward to the warmth we would have found in the upper part of the castle, but as I checked my bag I noticed I had forgot my Chemistry book in the classroom, so I ran back to get it, Ron following me lazily, in no hurry to get to our next class.

I grabbed the book, stuffing it in the bag, and went back in the corridor, wondering how I had suddenly become that distracted – to be honest, I knew exactly how, but it was embarrassing to admit that, even to myself; just as I was about to set my foot on the first step of the stairs, though, someone stepped in front of me, blocking the access.

I looked up, annoyance already growing in my chest, and, of course, there he was; Draco Malfoy, with his two huge, gorilla-like friends from the football team, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

He looked down at us, and when he saw Ron's hand in mine he sniggered, an evil glint in his steel grey eyes.

"The rumours I heard were true then: the Weasel and the Mudblood, together."

I felt Ron stiffening by my side, and I clenched my teeth, narrowing my eyes; I was really starting to be sick of that boy and his twisted insults.

"Step aside, Malfoy," I said rudely, my hands twitching around the strap of my bag.

His snigger became more pronounced, and his two friends mimicked his expression, like the good, obedient henchmen they were.

"Oh, I'm so scared: Miss Granger goody-two-shoes bookworm wants me to buzz off!" he said mockingly, looking slightly bored by the conversation. "You are just a filthy little Mudblood worth for nothing; just like the Weasel redheads, a shame for our heritage. Rubbish, all of you –"

He didn't have the time to end the sentence, though; or, for better saying, _I _didn't give him the time to do so. I was just so angry, angry at him for insulting me, and Ron's family…I lost it for good.

I had never been a troublemaker, but, if needed, I was capable of throwing a good punch.

And that was exactly what I did, hitting Malfoy square in the nose.

He cursed and pressed his right hand to his nose, which was starting to slowly drip blood onto the stone floor of the dungeons; I was sure I hadn't broken it, I hadn't put enough force in the hit. But still, he had gotten what he deserved.

My hand throbbed painfully, and my knuckles were red and stiff, but that was worth it.

At least, that was what I thought until Snape bolted out of the classroom and strode towards us, his dark eyes filled with anger.

"Fighting in the corridors is strictly prohibited! Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your irrational behaviour!" he barked, looking at Malfoy, who was letting out pitifully squeals while trying to stop the bleeding.

"And you, Weasley, why didn't you stop her from hitting Mr Malfoy? Enjoying the fight? Ten more points from your house, for your negligence," he added, his lips thinning more and more with every word. Ron looked at Snape like he wanted to kill him, but he didn't complain, probably knowing that saying anything would have gotten him in more trouble than he already was. The professor glared at me, but I didn't look down; I wasn't ashamed of what I had just done.

"Detention, for both of you."

Of course, the three Slytherins were coming clean out of it; I wasn't surprised, only disgusted. Leave it to the professors to be fair with the students in similar situations.

"Mr Goyle, I suggest you take Mr Malfoy to the infirmary; Madam Pomfrey will help him stop the bleeding and check his nose out. And you two," he turned back to Ron and I, who were still standing in front of the stairs. "I want to see you in my office at the end of lessons. _Punctual_."

With that he went away, strolling down the shadowy corridor and disappearing into his classroom, the long black coat he always wore fluttering behind him like a bat's wings.

"Remember, Granger," Malfoy choked out, still holding his nose, as Goyle dragged him up the stairs. "Payback's a bitch."

"There's no need for you to tell me; I just showed you the very concept," I snarled as he disappeared behind a turn; then I sighed deeply, plopping down on a step.

"I'm sorry I got you detention, you didn't have any fault," I muttered to Ron as he sat down beside me. I had gotten him in trouble, even if he hadn't done anything but standing by my side.

He grinned, shaking his head.

"Are you kidding? You have been bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed, eyes bright with amusement. "And besides, detention together can't be that bad, right?"

I smiled at his words, and nodded; I had never gotten any detention before, so I really didn't know what to expect, but he was right: together it couldn't be that bad.

He took my hand in his, the one I hit Malfoy with, and I winced; was it my impression, or it was swelling a bit? And man, it hurt like hell.

Ron made a face, his fingertips brushing against my offended skin with the lightest of touches; then he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it softly, lingering for a moment there. My heart fluttered at that small contact, and I wondered if it would have always been like that, if I would have had responded in such an intense way to everything.

"Come on, we are already late for our class, so it's pointless to join now; I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey, the matron; she'll get a look at your hand," he said, standing and gently pulling me up with him.

"By the way, remember me not to start a fight with you: I would risk my life in it," he added with a smirk; I playfully shoved him, and he grinned, leading me upstairs.

Luckily, by the time we got to the infirmary Malfoy and his friends were already gone; Madam Pomfrey, the matron – a thin woman with grey hair and a stern look on her face – was getting rid of a bunch of blood-stained gauzes, making me think that we had missed the Slytherins of seconds.

When we entered the room she looked up at us, crossing her arms over her chest; it was impressive how threatening she looked despite her small frame – she was several inches shorter than me, and I wasn't that tall.

"You are lucky, I just finished checking on a Slytherin boy with a nosebleed. He got into a fight, he said; he whined the whole time about how much it hurt. He'll get a good bruise, too. Though I must say, who hit him aimed well." She smiled for a moment before turning serious again. "What happened to you?" she asked then, her eyes focusing on the hand I was keeping close to my body.

I smiled sheepishly, blushing as I stepped forward.

"I'm the one who threw the punch," I admitted; I couldn't help but feeling slightly proud about it. It would have been wonderful, seeing Malfoy walking around the school with a bruised nose knowing that _I _did it. The satisfaction would have been worth ten detentions.

Madam Pomfrey gave me a smug look and gestured for me to sit on one of the two cots in the back of the room, carefully checking on my hand.

"You got quite the hit, I see," the matron said critically, flexing my fingers as I winced. "There's nothing broken, but I think you got quite close; you really must have hit the boy pretty hard."

Ron, who was hovering behind her, let out a low, admired whistle, and Madam Pomfrey glared at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class, Mr Weasley?" she asked briskly as she stood to get some bandages and stuff; it gave me the idea that she knew Ron well, as though she had seen him in the infirmary often.

Ron shrugged, fiddling with his hair and grinning. "Too late to join by now; I walked her up here after the fight to check on her hand," he said carelessly.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, rolling her eyes, and sat down in a small chair by the spot I was sitting, tightly wrapping the bandages around my hand, accurately twisting and turning them before tucking the edge in the tying.

"Here we go: keep it for a week, just to be sure, and it'll be ok in no time. Just an advice, though," she smiled a little as she spoke, "The next time you need to punch someone, let someone else do it – like our boy there; he has quite the experience with these things. You are strong, but small hands are not good in fights."

I smiled back, blushing, and thanked her; then I walked out with Ron.

"How come did she seem to know you well?" I asked as we sat on the stairs by the library; we still had a while before the bell, and we were in no hurry.

Ron's ears turned pink, and he smiled sheepishly, taking my gauze-wrapped hand in his and drawing soft circles on the bandages.

"Let's say that, between football injuries, chemistry accidents and a few fights with the Slytherins, in the last three years I have spent more time in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey than in class," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Then he looked down at our joined hands, and his smile grew wider.

"You know, she is right: you really have small hands," he said, placing his palm flat against mine. It was true: compared to his, my hand looked like the one of a small child.

He reached out with his free hand, tucking a stray curl behind my ear and brushing my cheek with his fingertips; I felt warmth spread along my cheekbones as I blushed, and there it was again, the same wobbly sensation of the previous night.

He leaned in, his face only inches from mine, and my eyes slowly closed as my breath stuck in my lungs.

He was so close…

The bell rang, and doors started to open in the corridor as the chatter of students filled the place.

Ron sighed, and we both stood, collecting our bags; Art Languages was at the top of the North Tower of the castle, and it would have taken us at least ten minutes to get there.

We climbed up the steep spiralling staircase of the tower – it was the shortest way up; the only other way to get there was to climb up to the last floor and then take a long series of stairs and corridors to the landing of the tower, a process which took no less than twenty minutes at a quick pace.

The smell of incense in the class was particularly intense that day, and I choked a bit as I stepped in, heading, as always, to the last desk in the back.

"Hey, where have you been?" Harry asked as we took our seats. "You weren't in Trigonometry, what happened? You were right behind me after Chemistry, and then…"

I made a face, blushing a little.

"I forgot my book in the classroom, and then we got… detained."

Harry gave me a quizzical look, furrowing his brow.

"Detained?" he asked, confused.

"Malfoy," nodded Ron, saying the name like it was an insult.

"What did the prat want?" Harry asked, leaning over the aisle to listen better.

"Offending us, as always. I don't think he will do that again, though," I said, smiling and showing him my bandaged hand.

"Wait – what did you do to your hand?" he asked me, widening his eyes.

I shrugged, playing indifference. "I punched him," I said earnestly, not feeling the littlest bit of regret.

"What?" he whispered loudly, causing several of our classmates to look at us curiously. He looked both incredulous and amazed, his face a comical mix of the two.

"She punched him, and I must tell you, mate, that was awesome!" Ron explained, grinning at me. "And they both ended up in the infirmary, Malfoy with a good nosebleed and our hero here with an injured hand."

Harry grinned, giving me a thumbs-up.

"You know, you will be the school hero as soon as the rumour will spread around a bit."

At the end of the hour I quickly called Aunt Elspeth to let her know I would have come home late that day – avoiding to tell her why, of course – and then sent Luna a text to tell her that I wouldn't have come home with her that day; then I hurried down to the dungeons with Ron, towards Snape's office.

It turned out that the above-named office was a small, claustrophobic room with no windows, lit only by a gas lamp hanging from the low ceiling. The walls were hidden behind tall shelves full of thick leather-bound books, alembics, scales and such, and inside it was as freezing as it was in the classroom, if not more.

"Good evening," Snape said coldly, looking at us as though we were particularly disgusting bugs. "Follow me, I will show you what your detention consists of."

Ron and I exchanged a worried look before following him along the dark corridor to what looked like a classroom disused for years with long rows of cabinets along the walls.

"Your task," Snape said, stepping forward and opening several of the cabinets , taking out large boxes of what looked like paperwork and placing them on one of the desks, "Will be to separate all these old reports of detentions in alphabetic order before placing them in the right cabinets."

Only then I noticed that each cabinet had a label with a letter on it; I frowned, how many reports could there be in that room?

"But they must be hundreds!" I said, discomforted.

Snape sneered, his black eyes bright with satisfaction.

"Oh, many more, Miss Granger. In this archive we keep every single report done from the beginning of last century to now. You should find the one about you and Mr Weasley among them. I will check on you in two hours; by then, I expect to see half the work done."

With that he left, closing the door behind him.

I sighed, plopping down on a chair. "We will never be done," I complained, taking the first box and looking at the names on the folders.

Ron sat down beside me, dragging two more boxes over.

"Come on, two hours is not much time to do all this work."

We started to divide the folders in piles, peeking curiously at the names on them, trying to find something familiar.

We soon discovered that there was an incredible amount of files about James Potter, Harry's father, along with three more names – Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. It seemed three cabinets only were reserved to the reports of their detentions, which filled several boxes.

We found as well reports on Ron's parents and older brothers, and lots of them on Ron and Harry themselves, most of them going back up from their second to fifth year.

"Hey, look!" I said, widening my eyes, as I read the name on a folder. "This is about my Aunt!"

Ron looked at it over my shoulder as I scrolled through the papers; then he laughed, pointing at something in the lower part of the sheet.

I read, and I started to laugh too, almost didn't believing what was written there: Aunt Elspeth's name, followed by the ones of Martha Malkin and Poppy Pomfrey – the matron! – was right above a long report on the detention the three of them had been given for 'causing a massive fight in the Great Hall between a large group of Gryffindors and Slytherins' and justifying the act saying that 'the Snakes needed to be taught a lesson'.

"Oh, my God," I breathed, closing the folder and placing it in the box. "You know, I feel even prouder of what I did to Malfoy; it seems I'm following family traditions!"

Ron grinned, taking the now full box to place it in the cabinet labelled with the letter G as I stood to get another stack of papers to examine. I looked back at him as he bent to put the box into place, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see me, and I smiled when I saw he had specks of dust in his hair and on his nose from rummaging through the dirty, mouldy-smelling boxes.

He turned and met my gaze, a curious expression in his eyes.

"What's up?" he asked, brushing his dusty hands on his trousers before walking back to where I was standing with a pile of papers in my hands.

I smiled, placing the stack of forms on the desk and reaching out to remove the dust from his nose with the tip of my finger, feeling a slight blush colouring my cheeks as I did so.

Ron looked at me thoughtfully, with something I didn't recognize in his eyes.

"You are so beautiful when you blush," he murmured, running his finger across my cheekbone.

His words made more blood flood to my cheeks, and he smiled, his face so close the tips of our noses touched. And then, with a feather-like touch, his lips brushed mine, one, two, three times, sending an electric jolt along my spine to the tip of my toes. I pulled closer, my arms sneaking around his neck as his hands found their way to my waist, gently lifting me off my feet so I wouldn't have to reach as far. It made me feel incredibly small and safe, a thing I wasn't used to.

Too soon, we broke apart, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching outside in the corridor. Merely seconds later Snape opened the door and stepped in, finding us at work again, piling and stuffing the faded papers.

We both looked up at him, innocent expressions on our faces, as he made a brusque move of his hand towards the door, his lips thinner than ever.

"You may go; this time I have been kind with you, but mind my words: next time you two do _anything _that is even vaguely against the rules I will assure you are locked down here for much longer than two hours."

We nodded in silence, gathered our bags and ran away, wanting to put as much distance as we could between us and the dungeons. The Twins were picking Ron up, and they gave me a lift home, since it was on the way and I didn't have a clue how to get back on my own.

When the car stopped in my front yard the lights were on in the kitchen, and Aunt Elspeth was probably laying the table for dinner; it was later than I thought.

"See you tomorrow?" Ron asked from the car window, a smile playing in his eyes.

I nodded, smiling as I reached for the keys in the pocket of my bag.

"Yeah," I said, as the car started to pull back. "See you tomorrow."

I loved how hopeful that sounded.

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><p><strong>So, that was it. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know, I love your reviews! My server has a problem though, it won't let me reply them, so THANK YOU! to you all who left your comments, they are wonderful!<strong>

**Stay tuned for an update on next weekend: St Valentine's Day and Malfoy's payback are coming!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Here's the new chapter! I know I said I would have updated during the weekend, but it seems I'm always one day late on my schedule; anyway, I hope you like it. As always, Enjoy, Read and Review!**

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><p>Chapter 13: Of St Valentine's Days and Vindictive Snakes<p>

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><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

Time passed incredibly fast after that day, bringing along a warm wind which promised an early spring and a whole lot of new events: first of all, for three weeks Malfoy could be seen walking around the castle with a purple bruise on his nose, rousing sniggers and whispers from Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and shameless cheers from every single Gryffindor in school; everyone knew I had been the one to cause that bruise, and I soon became the new hero of my house. Harry and Ginny officially became a couple, even if only after the Twins found them kissing in an empty classroom during break and ran into the Great Hall to shout the news to everyone in a ten-yards hearing range; apparently, before that episode they thought no one had noticed they were unofficially together – which would have been incredibly thick, considering that whenever Ginny disappeared Harry was nowhere to be found too. And the Slytherins started to shoot me murdering glares as I passed, to the point that I took the habit of changing direction whenever I spotted a numerous group of students of their house, finding shelter among my friends or using an excuse to talk to a teacher.

I knew I was running, but wasn't ashamed: I knew perfectly well that the Slytherins would have hit me back to avenge Malfoy if they had the chance, and if the hit came from Tyger or Goyle, I would have ended up with a broken nose at the very least.

That morning, anyway, those thoughts were far away from my mind, and my spirits were incredibly high: it was a Friday, outside there was a wonderful sun – a blessing after four whole weeks of incessant rain – and it was the fourteenth of February – St Valentine's day. I had always loved the celebration, since when I was little: every year my father used to come home with a rose for each of us (red for Mom and pink for Emma and I); then he would take us all, 'women of his life' as he liked to call us, out to dinner. As long as I remembered, he hadn't missed a single year.

I smiled at my reflection as I buttoned up my shirt and fixed my tie, singing softly to myself; I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to untangle it a bit, put on a light makeup and grabbed by bag, literally skipping downstairs.

"Good morning, darling," Aunt Elspeth greeted me as I entered the kitchen, pushing a mug of steaming coffee toward me. "How come you are this happy?"

I shrugged, hiding my smile behind the cup, and sat down; there were some slices of toasted bread on a plate, and I took one, buttering it before spreading cherry jam – my favourite – on it.

"Has a young man with red hair anything to do with it?" she asked casually, pouring herself a glass of orange juice; I felt my face go red, and she smirked at me from over her newspaper.

"Come on, honey, you have spent every free minute of your time with him in the last month, I would be blind if I didn't see how much you two care about each other; today it's the celebration of love, there's nothing wrong in being happy. When I was your age, I was too; every girl in school looked forward to see what the boys would have organized . Albus was one of the most inventive; I heard that since he became Headmaster he always organizes something for the students."

It was odd, hearing her say Professor Dumbledore's name; to us all in school he was 'the Headmaster', nothing more, as though he wasn't a normal person, and he was born that way, silver beard and half-moon shaped spectacles included. Knowing that he had been a student too, just like any of us, was a bit incredible, even if obvious at the same time.

"Happy St Valentine's Day!" Emma squealed happily, jumping on her chair and grabbing the milk jug with a huge grin on her face.

She was dressed up as usual, plain blue jeans and her favourite strawberry pink hoodie, but I noticed she had put two red heart-shaped hairpins in her hair, pulling her always ruffled fringe back from her face.

Apparently, she had found a way to celebrate the day even in her clothes – a thing she loved doing: at Christmas, she always dressed up in red from head to toe; at San Patrick's day, she always wore something green and clover-shaped (hairpins, a pendant, or button earrings), and such. Whenever I asked her why it was so important to her, she simply answered that if a particular day was to be celebrated there was a reason, and that the best way to do so was reminding everyone else that, in her mood as well as in her clothes. The first time she told that, she was three, and Mom and I had looked at her in such shock that she burst out laughing like mad, suggesting us to close our mouths before we could swallow a fly.

She had always been clever – and I really meant it, not just because she was my sister – and I often wondered what the results would have be if I put an IQ test in front of her. I was sure she would have surprised me.

"God, look at what time it is, Luna and her father will be here to pick us up in a minute!"

I gulped down the rest of my toast, along with the last sip of coffee, and jumped up, instinctively reaching out to take my crutches; it took me a moment to remember that I didn't need them anymore, that I would have never needed them again. I smiled to myself and hurried upstairs to brush my teeth and grab my jumper – a red one that day, bright and lively as the sunny day outside.

When, a few minutes later, I got in the Lovegoods' car and saw Luna, I couldn't help but smiling: her waist-length wavy hair was pulled back in two long braids, each of which had a huge, furry red heart pinned to the end, and her earrings followed the same pattern (they were two long chains of small interwoven golden hearts), dangling from her earlobes and almost brushing her shoulders. For what I could see, there were hearts carefully sewed on her schoolbag as well, made out of what looked like felt, of several sizes and colours. The effect was nice, and totally Luna-like; on anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but on her it was absolutely cute.

We got to school a bit earlier than usual, and we walked to the doors in no hurry, observing the scene before us: despite it was still twenty minutes to the bell, the garden was already packed with students; everywhere there were couples holding hands, and here and a group young girls – probably third or fourth years by the look of them – standing by the door whispered and giggled, while boys blushed and walked away quickly, or tentatively smiled back at them.

We had barely stepped in that Luna was spotted by Neville, who looked like he had been waiting for her by the door for a while – which probably was; he dragged her away, smiling, and Luna waved at me happily before following him down the corridor.

I shook my head, smiling – the two of them looked like they were meant for each other, and in the last days they had become so overly sweet our group had practically kicked them out, adding 'sloppiness-induced nausea' as an excuse.

When I reached the row of lockers at the end of the corridor, I found that the spot in front of number 77 was occupied. I sighed: of all the places, did Ginny and Harry have to snog in front of _my locker_? Please.

"Breathe, guys," I said a little amused, tapping my foot as they turned to look at me. Ginny went tomato red to the roots of her hair, muttering a 'sorry' with a half-guilty, half-embarassed smile, and harry simply smirked, looking totally unashamed, lacing his fingers with Ginny's and leading her away; I had a strong suspect Fred and George would have kicked them away too soon enough, they were competing with Luna and Neville in sloppiness since they officially came together.

But as I looked around, I noticed that everyone I knew was with his or her sweetheart, while there was no sign of the tousled red head I was looking for. He hadn't forgotten what day it was, had him? Or maybe he had; maybe he wasn't the St Valentine's type.

I was so distracted at first I didn't notice the object laying in my locker, placed on top of my books; only when I outstretched my hand to take my Trigonometry text I realized what it was.

I took it carefully, widening my eyes: it was a rose – a white rose, its perfect petals the same colour as freshly-fallen snow, and there was something tied around its stem, holding onto its curved thorns, something shiny… A thin silver chain, hung to which was a delicate heart-shaped pendant, with the most graceful pattern of flowers and leaves engraved around its contours. I was speechless; it was absolutely wonderful.

"I hope you like it," whispered a voice in my ear. I turned, and there he was, his ears pinker than ever as he looked at me in the eye.

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak; I felt a slight tightness in my throat, and I was positively sure that my eyes were a little shiny with a few happy tears.

"It's perfect," I whispered eventually, untangling the chain from the rose's thorns. I handed him the necklace, turning and pushing my hair to the side, exposing my neck.

"Would you help me put it on?" I asked him, blushing a little.

He smiled, his blue eyes sparkling, and he quickly locked the chain around my neck before taking me in his arms, gently lifting my face to kiss me. I sighed, leaning into him, and closed my eyes, melting into his embrace. I wondered how he could be so perfect and sweet in every moment, how he could guess exactly what to do or say. I would have never understood that, I was sure.

"Have a look inside," he suggested, a little breathless, when we parted, the tips of his fingers brushing the pendant. I gave him a puzzled look and turned it in my fingers; I hadn't noticed, but there were tiny hinges on one side. The chain was just long enough for me to look at the locket, and I opened it, curious.

The inside was divided in two parts: in one there was a small picture of Ron and I – it was one we took in November, two weeks after I arrived; I was pretty sure there were Harry, Ginny and the Twins in it too, but they must have been cut out; in the other, instead, was engraved one single word in a curly, delicate cursive.

_Forever._

I pressed a hand to my mouth as my heart swelled, making me think it was about to explode, and I felt a single tear escaping my eyes and rolling down my face.

"Thank you," I said simply, hugging him and burying my face in his shoulder.

He pulled me closer and pressed his lips to the top of my hair, his arms tight and protective around me.

There was no need for words, not in that moment.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

It got to school awfully early that morning – when I arrived the corridors were still deserted, except for Hagrid and Filch, who I carefully avoided as I walked to Hermione's locker; the old caretaker was well known for punishing the students for reasons as 'breathing loudly' or 'looking arrogant', and I couldn't risk my plan to fail just because of him. He would have probably dragged me to his office and given me detention for 'furtive walking' or something like that; not that it wouldn't have been funny, seeing him yelling at me and accusing me of being an irremediable criminal, but that day I didn't want to spoil everything just to make Filch angry.

I reached her locker, number 77, and opened it; I had seen her inserting the combination so many times I knew it by memory. Then I took the white rose sticking out of my bag – I didn't want to ruin its petals putting it inside with the books, since I had spent half an hour in the flowers' shop that morning (I was lucky the owner always opened very early in the morning on St Valentine's day) before choosing it, the most perfect of the lot – and I reached in my pocket to take the locket.

I had found it by chance as I was wandering downtown the previous week; it was in the stained window of a small knick-knacks' shop I had never entered before, just at the corner with Knocturn Alley.

I had looked at the things in the window more out of bore than in real interest, and it had immediately caught my eye. I had made my mind and walked in the shop, to get out five minutes later with the locket in my pocket, wrapped in a piece of maroon paper.

I was expecting it to cost a little fortune, instead the old woman at the counter almost gave it to me for free; apparently, she had had it in the shop for so long she just wanted to get rid of it, and I had to insist to pay five pounds for it. I knew both the chain and the locket were made of silver, and it would have felt like stealing, taking it without giving nothing in change.

I wrapped the chain around the stem of the flower so that the thorns would keep hold of it, and then placed everything on top of her books, so that she would have seen it immediately when she opened her locker to get her things.

And then I just waited, leaning against the side of the last locker, knowing that she wouldn't have seen me there unless she turned the corner. I saw Luna and Neville passing by, and then Harry and Ginny, who started kissing right in front of Hermione's locker. God, the two of them were really starting to get on my nerves; yes, Harry was my best friend since our first year at Hogwarts, but seeing him always glued to my little sister was a bit odd, to say the least. If they got on like that, Fred and George would have kicked them away from our usual table, just like we did the previous week with Luna and Neville – the two of them were really too much for anyone of us to take.

And then there she was, walking alone to her locker and looking around as though she was looking for someone; I felt a bit guilty for hiding like that, but I so wanted to see her reaction to the rose and the locket without staying in the way.

I almost burst out laughing as she shamelessly interrupted Harry and Ginny, seeming both amused and a little annoyed as they walked away quickly, Harry looking pretty smug, while Ginny's face was the same colour of her hair from embarrassment. Good, two more minutes and I would have walked out to part them myself.

Then she opened the locker, her hand reaching out automatically to get the books she needed, and I saw her eyes widening as she stopped. She took the rose in her hands, with a tender smile playing on her lips and the most becoming blush tinting her cheeks of faint pink. She looked happy, and so beautiful she took my breath away.

Apparently, I had chosen the right gift.

We walked to class together, Hermione tucked safely in my side as we went, my arm around her; I could have spent a lifetime holding her close, and yet it wouldn't have been long enough for me.

In the empty half of the locket that single word, _forever_, promised eternity; I wished I could give her so much, a lifetime of keeping her safe. Because in the last month I had started to realize, I was into it much, much deeper than I ever expected, and lately three small words had started to dance back and forth in my mind, begging to be spoken out loud. I always pushed them away, knowing that it wasn't the right moment, that they had to wait a few more weeks, or maybe a few more months, before they could be let out; it would have had to be the perfect moment, something she would have remembered. Then, and only then, I would have told her I was in love with her.

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><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

The whole day passed in a state of pure bliss; even Chemistry couldn't damage my mood, and I smiled during the whole hour, earning several glares from Snape, which I ignored completely.

The bell signalling the end of last hour came sooner than I expected, and I found myself in front of my locker again, putting away the books I wouldn't have needed during the weekend, while Ron played with my hair, twirling a lock around his finger.

"How about coming to watch our practice today?" he asked, smiling; the following day Gryffindor would have had its second match against Slytherin, and Harry had insisted the team practiced that afternoon, with much of Ginny's dismay.

I looked at Ron, pretending to think about it as he folded his arms over his chest and waited, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"I think I might come," I said, smiling and reaching on my tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "But I'll do some homework in the meantime, or I won't be able to catch up with everything we have due on Monday."

He chuckled, kissing the tip of my nose and throwing his football rucksack over his shoulder.

"You don't need to catch up, you are the top of our year already. Top of the school probably," he uttered, lacing his fingers with mine.

I smiled and followed him outside, towards the football pitch. We were halfway through the way when I suddenly remembered: I needed to get my History book, but then I got distracted talking with Ron and I forgot. I had to take it, or I wouldn't have been able to write the essay Professor Binn assigned us.

"I forgot my book inside! You go down to the pitch, I'll join you in a few minutes, ok?" I told Ron with a grimace, adjusting my bag on my shoulder before hurrying up the hill again. Luckily the caretaker seemed to be nowhere around, or he would have probably yelled at me for staying at school late.

I opened my locker and grabbed my book, stuffing it quickly in my bag; how could I be always so distracted when Ron was anywhere around?

I slammed the metal door shut and made the move to walk away, but I stopped, looking around and frowning. It was improbable, because the school was deserted at that time, but I had the impression someone was looking at me. There was no one there, so I just shook my head, adjusting my red-and-gold scarf around my neck and turning to leave.

Then I froze: in the middle of the corridor, where ten seconds before there was no one, was standing Malfoy, his sneering face full of despise.

"Going anywhere, Mudblood?" he asked, his voice almost amused.

I stepped back instinctively, and he walked forward, his smile growing wider and wider.

"I told you," he said casually, as though he was talking about our latest Chemistry assignment, "That payback is a bitch. Seems it's my turn to teach you a lesson."

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><p>Ron's POV:<p>

I poked my head out of the changing rooms' door, and I noticed the terraces were completely empty, no trace of Hermione. She should have already come back by then, it had been over ten minutes since she ran back to the castle. I had to admit, I was a little worried; she was still a bit unsteady sometimes, when it she fell?

I walked back to my locker, pretending to rummage through it as though I was looking for something, and I scoffed loudly, so that my teammates could hear me.

"Must have forgotten my sweatpants in the locker up to the castle," I muttered, throwing my jacket on over my Gryffindor t-shirt. "I'm going to run and get them, ok? Sorry guys, I'll be back in a minute."

With that I left, running across the pitch and up the hill; I was sure nothing had happened, Hermione had probably stopped talking to a teacher or getting something in the library, but for some reason I had a bad feeling about it. Checking wouldn't have done any harm.

I slipped in the castle, sneaking past Filch, who was muttering to himself as he washed the floor of the teachers' room, and running down the corridor to where the lockers were. I turned the corner, and I stopped dead in my tracks as I took in the scene before me.

Hermione was walking back slowly, as Malfoy walked towards her, forcing her to draw back to get away from him. The Slytherin had his back at me, and Hermione was so focused on him she didn't even see me; I could see she was scared, even if she was trying to hide it from Malfoy.

"How about walking around with a nice bruise on your nose for a while, Granger?" he asked, his sneer evident in his voice as he took another step towards her. She drew back, and her back hit the row of lockers; he had left her no way out.

I felt blood boiling in my veins as he roughly grabbed her wrist to keep her from running; how dared him even laying a finger on her?

"Consider it justice, Mudblood," he said, his tone almost bored, as though he wanted to take things short. "You punch me, I punch you. I've been merciful, Tiger and Goyle wanted to do it for me, but I thought that maybe breaking bones was a little too much. You are going to pay for the shame you threw on me though, playing hero with your housemates as I was laughed at from the whole school."

He took another step forward, and Hermione pressed her back even more into the lockers, trying to put as much distance as she could between the two of them.

"Get away from her," I snarled then, closing the distance between us in four long strides. "Now."

Malfoy's head snapped up as he heard my voice, and Hermione took advantage of his distraction to push hard against him, making him stumble and running out of his reach, coming to stand by my side; she put a hand on my arm, and I felt it was shaking.

The little bastard had crossed the line one time too much.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, hard; he was several inches shorter than me, I would have had an easy game with him.

"You filthy scum, how dare you?" I muttered, lifting my arms so that he had to stand on his toes to stay upright. "Waiting for her to be alone, trying to hurt her…"

Malfoy whimpered something intelligible, and I slammed him in the wall again.

"Coward," I spat through my teeth, feeling disgust rising in my chest as I looked at him. "When you try to beat a girl it's fine, but with someone bigger than you it's not that easy, right? No, it's your friends who take care of those like me in these cases, while you run hiding. But your friends are not here today."

He writhed, trying to get free, his expression so pitiful he almost made me laugh; he was just a worm, a weak, spineless coward . I grabbed him and threw him down on the floor, hard, walking back to where Hermione was standing a little shakily. I stroked her cheek, asking for her forgiveness for being almost late, and then turned back to Malfoy, who was still on the floor, looking shocked and shaken.

"You dare even speaking to her again," I warned him, trying to highlight the threat in my voice, "And I swear, I will make you regret it."

I made the move to go away, and Malfoy's voice echoed behind me.

"Why didn't you hit me, Weasley? Scared of hurting yourself?"

How could he sink so low? Trying to provoke me, hoping I would have swallowed the bait and hit him, so that he could go and denounce me to the teachers?

"I don't fight with cowards who don't even have the gut to defend themselves," I just said, calmly; then I placed my arm around Hermione's waist and led her away.

Only when we were outside I stopped, drawing a deep breath to calm myself.

I took her hand and kissed her wrist, which still had a red mark around it where Malfoy had grabbed her, and a moment later she was in my arms, holding tightly onto me.

"I've lost count of how many times I've said it recently," she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. "But thank you. I'd probably be walking up to the infirmary looking for Madam Pomfrey by now if you didn't come to look for me."

I kept an arm around her as we walked down the hill to the pitch; Harry and the others would have killed me, I was gone for ages.

"I'm sorry I didn't get there earlier; if I just walked you to the castle nothing would have happened," I said under my breath, grimacing.

"Hey, nothing happened anyway. You got there in time, just like a hero."

I smiled down at her, amused.

"So, now I'm a hero?" I asked, mocking her a bit.

"Yeah," she said, stopping and standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. "My hero."

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><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

On Saturday morning the sky was of a perfect, cloudless blue, and the sun was even warmer than the day before; we couldn't have had better weather conditions for the match. I had never liked sport much, but since I started attending Hogwarts, I hadn't missed a single match of the Football Cup.

That would have been Gryffindor's second and last match of the year against Slytherin, and, according to Aunt Elspeth, it had to be celebrated properly. So, after a quick breakfast, the three of us squeezed in Aunt Elspeth's old car, all of us dressed in red and gold, Emma holding in her hands a huge Gryffindor flag with our rampant lion on it, and we went to the castle.

The school was already packed with parents and kids when we arrived, and I was pleased to notice that most of the crowd held Gryffindor's scarves, flags and banners; the fight for the Cup was between us and the Slytherins, and apparently Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students had decided that, if they had to choose one of the two teams, Gryffindor was the best.

We slid along the terraces to where all the Weasleys, plus the Lovegoods and Potters, were sitting in a tight group, banners saying 'Weasleys Legends' and 'Potter Rules' flapping in the gentle wind above their heads; they all greeted us happily, squeezing a bit to make room for us too. I saw several familiar faces among the crowd – Madam Rosmerta, from the Three Broomsticks, holding out a Gryffindor flag attached to what looked like, well, a _broomstick_; Martha Malkin, wearing a red jumper with Gryffindor emblem on it, and Madam Pomfrey, the matron, who had a long red-and-gold striped scarf wrapped around her neck – and I was surprised to see that not only students and their families were there, but also people from the town, ex-students and such. It made me think that once you were a Gryffindor, you were for your whole life.

More people joined us – Parvati and Padma Patil, Neville, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Hannah Abbott, the Hufflepuff girl from Botanic, with a group of their housemates, and many more, some of them from other houses and whom I barely knew, all of them wearing the colours of my house in a way or the other. We talked and laughed together, flags and banners passing from hand to hand as we unrolled them so that they were clearly visible from the other side of the pitch, where sat the small patch of silver and green of Slytherin; I was sure they were eating their livers seeing how many people was on Gryffindor's side that day – and, I had to be honest, they deserved it.

Around eleven thirty Professor McGonagall climbed up the terraces to the commenter's podium, followed closely by Lee Jordan, who had a huge grin on his face; it was about to start, and the whole crowd hushed as Lee cleared his voice and began his commentary.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to today's match: Slytherin – Gryffindor, the favourites for the Football Cup this year! We all know of the centuries-long rivalry between the two houses, and today things will be sorted out: the best team will get to its house many points, and with every probability the Cup at the end of May, too! So…here's Slytherin!"

A small pool of cheers echoed from the Slytherins as Lee listed without too much enthusiasm: "Malfoy! Tiger! Goyle! Bulstrode! Parkinson! Flint!" and other names as the players ran in the pitch one by one.

"And here's Gryffindor's team! C'mon, folks, let's make them hear how many of us are here today for them!" Lee bellowed, raising his hands in the air and adding his voice to the hundreds of cheers erupting from every spot in the terraces; many of us, including Mrs Weasley, Ginny and I, jumped on our feet as we shouted, our voices joining the chorused off-key anthems which were being started in several patches of crowd.

I was positively sure I wouldn't have heard anything after that, but I didn't care: the excited atmosphere was highly infectious, and I couldn't stop grinning and yelling as our commenter – who was obviously far from being impartial, as always – yelled enthusiastically the names of the players.

Madam Hooch walked to the middle of the pitch with the football under her arm and her silver whistle already between her teeth.

"Captains – shake hands!" she ordered. Harry and Malfoy stepped forward and obeyed, looking as though they were trying to break each other's fingers in the process.

Then the ball was put down, and the game started.

"Bulstrode has the ball – Tyger – Malfoy – Potter intercepts the ball, he passes – Weasley – Spinnet – Johnson – Weasley – SCORES! 1 – 0 for Gryffindor!"

"Go, guys!" Ginny yelled beside me, a happy grin on her face as she leant forward, her hands on the handrail.

I had to admit, we had never played so well before: we scored three more goals in the next twenty minutes, bringing the score to 4 – 0; the Slytherin's patch was utterly silent, and their players seemed to be losing control completely.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy yelled as his teammates ran around without coordination. "We need to score! Get the ball!"

"Wish it was that easy!" yelled Pansy Parkinson, a bulky seventh-year with a face like a pug. "They seemed to have enchanted the ball, it's practically glued to their feet!"

"And Potter scores again! 5 – 0 for Gryffindor! Seems that Slytherin's team is not at its best today, Gryffindors have total control of the game! Weasley has the ball – Spinnet – Bell – Spinnet again – Weasley – FOUL! FOUL!" Lee screamed suddenly as Malfoy collided heavily with Gorge (at least, I thought it was George), tackling him to the ground. Madam Hooch whistled, and Malfoy got back on his feet, his sneer evident even from the distance.

"Sorry, I tripped!" he said in the most unconvincing tone I had ever heard. Madam Hooch gave a penalty to Gryffindor, but Angelina was so angry that she missed the door, sending the ball right into Slytherin's keeper's hands.

From that on, things started to get worse.

Slytherins started to snatch the ball in every way possible, kicking, punching and elbowing everyone in their way; I had never seen a dirtier game before. The score, though, didn't change: as much as the players could force their way to our door, Ron was always there to block the ball, not missing a single one.

The thing, of course, started to get onto their nerves; but they couldn't injure the keeper, could they?

At the fourty-fifth minute Madam Hooch called a time out for the players to rest for a few minutes, and Gryffindors dragged themselves onto a long bench on the side of the pitch, rubbing bruises and cuts; I had never seen our players looking so beaten up, it was as though they had just taken part in a massive fight. Angelina had a large bruise on her leg where Millicent Bulstrode kicked her; Katie's nose was bleeding, and Fred's lip was split where Goyle had elbowed him in the face. More than players of a school football team, they resembled an army squad returning from the battlefield.

When Madam Hooch called them back onto the pitch, Gryffindor team walked back onto the grass, and I saw with the corner of my eye Malfoy signalling something to Tiger, who was standing by the other side of the pitch. What the heck was he thinking to do?

Malfoy suddenly burst into a run toward the Gryffindors from one direction, Tiger from the other; for a moment I thought they wanted to hurt Harry, but then I understood who was their real target. Everyone jumped out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough; the two boys collided with Ron from both sides, tackling him down, and they all crumpled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

I jumped on my feet with a choice word I had never said in front of Emma before; outraged yells burst out from every single watcher – teachers included.

"You filthy, cheating scum! You ba –" Lee was yelling; Professor McGonagall, who usually restrained him when his comments became too coloured, didn't even hear him, for she was too busy yelling at Malfoy and his companion, waving her fist toward the two Slytherins.

"Never!" Madam Hooch bellowed, forcing Malfoy and Tiger on their feet seizing them by their ears. "Never, in all the years I have refereed football matches, I have seen such an unfair behaviour! You are a shame for the school, using such violence against another player! Suspended! Your whole team will be excluded from the rest of the matches from the Cup as a punishment! And a hundred points from Slytherin, _each_!"

The Slytherins booed and whistled, but their disapproval was swallowed by our rage, which, I was sure, could be heard till downtown.

Madam Pomfrey, meanwhile, had gotten on her feet and hurried on the pitch, where Ron was still sitting on the ground, holding his left arm; the old matron shooed the rest of the team, who was crowded around Ron, and crouched down. She said something I couldn't make out, and then she helped Ron up, walking him off the pitch, towards the castle.

"How's him?" I yelled at Harry, who was walking towards the bench right under the terraces.

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, looking angry and worried; his clothes had green stains of grass on them, and his glasses were slightly askew on his face.

"Broken arm!" he yelled as the rest of the team gathered around him. "He will be out for the rest of the season; Madam Pomfrey is taking him up to the castle, to the infirmary!"

Ginny and I exchanged a worried look, and a moment later we were climbing down the terraces, Emma following us closely, holding onto my sweatshirt to keep up.

We ran up the hill, following the path Ron and the matron had taken only a few minutes later, and we found the castle doors open; we slipped inside and hurried to the infirmary, dragging an awestruck Emma with us – she had never seen the inside of the castle before, and she was utterly amazed by it.

We skidded to a halt right in the infirmary, all three of us with short breath from the long run, and Madam Pomfrey smiled at us; she was sitting by Ron on one of the cots, and she was carefully proceeding in seizing a plaster around his arm. He was pale, and by the look on his face it was obvious that he was in pain, but he didn't let out a sound as the matron worked on his arm.

"That filthy bastard! Oh, he'd better not to cross my way in school on Monday, or I swear, I'll reduce him in such small pieces they will have to put him in a match box!" Ginny shrieked, her cheeks as red as her hair, as she plopped down on the other cot. I followed her closely, Emma always tucked in my side, and sat down too, shaking my head.

"I didn't think he would have gotten to this. I bet he did it for vengeance, to pay you back from humiliating him the other day," I muttered, reaching out instinctively to push a lock of hair from his brow. He smiled, shrugging and then grimacing in pain as the movement sent more pain to his arm.

"They were losing, and he didn't want to. He's too proud to be defeated in front of Mommy and Daddy – haven't you seen them? They were sitting among the Slytherins; I bet Malfoy wanted to impress them. Dad once told me that Lucius Malfoy used to cheat like that in everything, to show that he was better than the others because of his _lineage_." He spat the last word like it was an insult, and Ginny snorted loudly, looking out of the window, from where the pitch was visible in the distance.

"I will give him lineage," she hissed, folding her arms over her chest; she looked so angry I was sure she was about to emit smoke from her ears. "I want to see what he will do of his pureblood-ness once I will have thrown him down the Astronomic Geography Tower; as much as I'm concerned, he can put it into his – "

"Ginny, please, not in front of Emma!" I pleaded, lunging forward and pressing a hand to her mouth before she could finish her sentence; I didn't want my five-year-old sister to hear such things.

We exchanged a look, and then we started to laugh uncontrollably; the situation was too comical to be ignored.

"That will do, Mr Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said then, patting Ron's arm, which was now enclosed in a thick white plaster. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had the stocking of a hospital ER; I had never seen such an equipped infirmary in a school, but, after all, I had never been to Hogwarts before.

"Five weeks, and you can come back to me to remove it. I'm sorry, but that will mean no football until then, and for the following few weeks; I fear your teammates will have to make do without you for the rest of the season."

Ron made a face and sighed, shaking his head. "It's no big deal for the team; we have only two matches left, against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; Harry will be able to get the Cup anyway."

The matron smiled and got to her feet, taking away the basin of water and plaster powder; I noticed that she still had the Gryffindor scarf around her neck, and I smiled remembering the detention report I had found a few weeks before as Ron and I worked in Snape's archive, the one about her, Madam Malkin and my aunt starting a huge fight with the Slytherins in the corridors.

"Thank you, Madam," Ron said, getting to his feet. "I promise you won't see me around the infirmary for a few weeks, I think I have had enough of injuries for now."

Madam Pomfrey scowled at him, wiping her hands on a white towel. "I can well believe it! Between you, Mr Potter and Miss Granger, my infirmary is always crowded! Now go, go!" she said, pushing us all out and closing the wooden door behind her.

We walked down the hill in no hurry, joking and planning not-so-serious ways to get our revenge over Malfoy.

"They have already been punished," Ron said with a shrug as we walked back into the still crowded pitch. "They have been excluded from the Football Cup for the rest of the year, and the two hundred points Madam Hooch took from them place them last in the classification for the House Cup. They will lose both of the leagues this year; I think it's enough. And then, there's the humiliation of being dragged away by the ears in front of the whole school." He smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That was priceless."

Just then someone jumped out in front of us; a girl with thick, curly dark hair and almond-shaped green eyes – the Ravenclaw sixth-year who always shot me venomous glares when she saw Ron and I together.

"Ron, how are you?" she asked, widening her eyes and stepping forward, a hand outstretched towards him.

Ron took a step back, and I felt his arm tightening a bit around my waist.

"I'm ok, Haley, thank you," he said, sounding careful and measured.

The girl's eyes flicked from Ron to me, and then she started talking again at top-speed, as though I wasn't there. "I saw the Slytherins tackling you down, and oh my God, I was scared! When Madam Pomfrey took you away people started to make several hypothesis, someone said you had broken ribs, others that they were carrying you to the hospital – "

"Thank you for the interest, but I'm fine, thanks; my arm will be fixed soon. Now, if you excuse us, we have things to do," Ron said, interrupting her and then walking away, dragging Emma, Ginny and I with him.

The girl stayed there, standing on the grass and glowering at me; I glowered back, knowing way too well where her interest for Ron's conditions came from. I had never been the jealous type before, but seeing that girl fawning over Ron made my blood boil.

"Who was she?" I asked as innocently as I could, looking down and ruffling Emma's hair. To my surprise, Ginny laughed loudly, pointing at the girl behind us with her thumb.

"She's Hadley Greene," she said, as though it was the most amusing thing in the world. "She's in my year, and she's a pain; she pestered Ron for months last year: she followed him around everywhere, waited for him in front of classroom doors, sneaked in the pitch to watch football practice – unbearable, always 'Oh, Ron, you're so great!' 'Oh, Ron, I was looking for you!' 'Can I lick your shoes, Ron?'."

She shook her head, sniggering.

"It took the combined effort of Harry, the Twins, Lee Jordan and I to get rid of her – and she still doesn't give up completely! She's totally nuts; at some point Ron started to hide in the library during lunch break to avoid her; he even ditched classes when he saw her in front of the classroom!"

I laughed too; it was impossible not to. That girl really had issues.

"Well, I'll go and tell Mom you're ok," Ginny said lightly, patting Ron's shoulder. "I bet she's freaking out a bit by now. See you later, ok? Come on, Emma, I'll take you back to your Aunt."

Emma smiled, taking her hand, and the two of them walked away quickly, disappearing in the crowd still sitting on the terraces.

"How come have you asked who she was?" Ron asked me, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shrugged, feeling suddenly very interested in an ant climbing on my trainers.

"Just curious. I had seen her around several times before, and I wanted to know," I answered as vaguely as possible.

He pulled me closer, lifting my chin with his good hand to look me in the eye.

"You are not, by any chance, jealous, are you?" he asked, his eyes bright; I shook my head, blushing, but he held my gaze, and I sighed, unable to look down.

"Fine," I said, leaning on my tiptoes to kiss him lightly on his lips. "Maybe a bit."

He grinned, kissing the tip of my nose.

"You don't have to worry about this, you know," he said softly, with an earnest look in his eyes. "Apart from the fact that she's crazy, she has one more huge flaw I can't step over."

I looked at him questioningly, and he smiled, resting his forehead against mine.

"She's not you."

* * *

><p><strong>So, there it was. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know! By the way, I got loads of reviews for last chapter, thank you to all the reviewers, I loved the comments! <strong>

**Next update on next weekend (or on Monday, knowing I always am a bit late): Spring break and Lavender's visit coming!**


	15. Author's Note 2

**Ok, guys, I know I have an awful delay, but next week I should be able to publish my new chapter. My adorable four-year-old cousin accidentally smashed my laptop on Mid August day, and I had to wait to come back from my vacation to take it to a technician. Luckily, the great man who owns the electronics shop near my house should hand me my laptop back on Monday, as good as new (I'm writing from a friend's computer right now). Check the story during the next week, I promise the new chapter – a very long chapter to make it up for the delay – will be up someday within Tuesday and Sunday. Sorry! **

**J**


	16. Chapter 14

**Finally, I managed to update! I was starting to think I would have never had my computer back - apparently, the technician hadn't been clear on _which _Monday he would have handed it back, so I got it only seven days ago, right in time for school to begin. Anyway, between tons of History, Literature, Chemistry and Philosophy and an awful cold - how lucky am I, getting sick after only three days of school, huh? - I managed to write the new chapter - it's much longer than my standards, a little attempt to make amend for my epic delay in updating it. :D**

**We are coming close to the end of the story - I think three more chapters, and I'll be able to write the word _The End _at the bottom of the page. Anyway, sorry again for the delay, and enjoy the reading! :)**

**JJ**

* * *

><p>Chapter 14: Of Art Tests and Old Friends, Shouting Matches and Fading Memories<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

"Wow, just another hour and we are out!" I sighed, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and walking out of our Trigonometry classroom.

Ron grinned, wrapping his right arm around my waist as we headed down the corridor towards the North Tower for the last Art class of the term – thanking God; I couldn't have stood Professor Trelawney more than that single hour without freaking out.

"Hey, my bad influence is starting to rub off on you! When have you ever been happy to stay away from school for two whole weeks?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes as he looked down at me.

I shoved him playfully, and he just held me tighter against his side, chuckling as we started to climb the tight spiral of the staircase to the tower.

"It's no bad influence," I said, smiling, as my hand reached up instinctively to touch the heart-shaped pendant hung at my neck; I hadn't taken it off once since he gave it to me, a month before. "I'm just happy to be free for a while. And besides, my friend Lavender will arrive tomorrow from Seattle; I haven't seen her since I left in November, and I'm really looking forward to spend some time with her."

"You know, I'm curious to meet her; you always talk about her a lot," Ron uttered as we slipped into the already full classroom, taking our usual seats in the very back of the room.

"She's been my best friend my whole life," I said with a small shrug. "It's almost like she's another sister or something like that."

Professor Trelawney cleared her throat pretty loudly in that very same moment, and the whole classroom looked up in surprise: she usually got on with her lectures – if they could even be considered like that – without caring about whether or not we paid attention to her; why did she suddenly want us to listen to her?

"As this is our last lesson before Easter, I thought it would have been nice to have a little test," she said dreamily; Harry, from the desk parallel to mine, widened his eyes and hissed _A what? _so loudly that Dean and Seamus, sitting in the front, sniggered.

"What kind of test are we supposed to do?" I whispered to Ron as he stared at the professor with a half-amused, half- incredulous look on his face. "Spray a canvas with paint and tell her that it represent our internal torment so that she's all warm and fuzzy with us?"

He chuckled , shaking his head as the Professor took a thick pile of drawings out of her bag and passed them around so that everyone of us had a different one in front.

"Now, I want you to look at the drawings focusing only with your Eye – and then tell me what you see in them. I want to understand whom, among you, are worthy of taking on the course for the last term."

"You guessed close," Ron muttered as he turned his drawing this way and that, cocking his head to the side. "I wonder what this is…A…cross? No, maybe it's a sword…I've never taken a more stupid test!"

I watched doubtfully as the Professor walked among the desks, stopping by each of us to talk.

"And yours, dear…what does it look like?" she asked after maybe half an hour of wandering, stopping by Harry's desk.

Harry seemed to think about it for a moment; then he answered lightly: "Surely the Grim, Professor."

I bit in my lip hard to restrain from laughing out loud: Professor Trelawney was obsessed with obscure presages, and she always predicted Harry's painful, imminent death; her favourite one was the Grim, some kind of ghost dog which haunted cemeteries, and Harry found the thing extremely amusing, shamelessly naming it anytime the Professor was around – and always getting top marks doing so.

Professor Trelawney nodded, tracing the black doodles on Harry's paper with her scrawny fingers.

"That's right, dear, that's right. Well, it seems that your Eye is still unfogged – I will be pleased to see you in my class at the end of the holidays."

I scoffed, and she turned, focusing her huge insect-like eyes on me.

"What about you, dear? What do you see in these lines?"

I looked down at the drawing on my desk: it was completely white, except for some large dark red dots in the centre. It just looked like someone had dropped red ink on it by mistake.

_A waste of paper, _I thought, looking up at the professor again; what was I supposed to see in it?

"Red dots on a white paper sheet," I said flatly, drumming my fingers on the desktop.

Professor Trelawney sighed deeply, shaking her head in a very dramatic way.

"My dear…You know, I noticed it on the very same day you walked in my class for the first time – your Eye is closed shut. Your mind is narrow, hopelessly Mundane; it isn't able to see behind appearance. I think you should maybe consider another course for the next term –"

I looked at her in shock: was she kicking me out?

No way!

"Fine!" I said, getting on my feet, stuffing the book back in my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. She wasn't kicking me out; it was _me _who was quitting that stupid, useless subject.

"Fine!" I repeated as I walked across the classroom, opened the door and walked out, closing it behind me without turning back. I stood there for a moment, my heart drumming in my chest as I thought about what I had just done: I had just quitted a course, and almost shouted to a teacher – the old Hermione Granger would have never done something like that back in Seattle, only six months before.

I smiled widely at the thought, and I sat down on the first step of the spiralling staircase, pulling out a book from my bag and waiting for the bell to ring.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched Hermione gather up her things and walk out, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with anger at the Professor's words. What the hell did it mean, _her mind was Mundane_? It sounded like an insult – it made me think of shallow, giggling girls like Hadley, whose biggest worry was if the shade of lipstick they had put on went well with the colour of their uniforms.

"What a pity," Professor Trelawney said meanwhile. "A girl so young, with a heart shrivelled as the one of an old maid…Ah, dear, her soul is dry as the parchment of the pages of an old book…"

I fisted my hands at her words, feeling my ears go red with anger: she knew nothing of Hermione's soul – so kind and brave and beautiful, shimmering of every colour of the world – how could she talk like that about her?

"It's your turn, dear," the professor said, leaning over my shoulder and pointing at the drawing in front of me. "What do you see? Tell me…"

I scowled at her, looking down for only a fraction of second – I had made up my mind.

"I see something that resembles the pictures my sister used to draw when she was two years old," I said earnestly, grabbing my bag and walking out just as the bell rang, leaving that poor excuse for a teacher inside the classroom gawking at me.

She was sitting on the staircase, reading, and she hadn't seen me – knowing her, she was probably so absorbed in the pages she hadn't even heard the bell. I looked at her, taking in her tousled hair, falling partly over her shoulder in a mane of dark ringlets, the way she was sitting, with a hand supporting the book and the other twirling her hair absentmindedly, the look in her eyes, focused and almost raptured as they flew on the page.

I sat down beside her, and only then she looked up, smiling.

"How did your test go?" she asked me, placing a piece of paper in the book to mark the page before putting it back in her bag. It was a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet – I knew she loved Shakespeare, and, knowing her, she had probably already read it a dozen times.

I shrugged, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her skin.

"I didn't pass," I said, standing and pulling her up with me. "I told her that the drawing she gave me looked like one of the doodles Ginny used to make when she was a toddler."

She laughed, pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle it.

"What – you didn't! You made her kick you out, too!" she exclaimed, her eyes bright. I nodded, and we descended the stairs together, still holding hands.

"Oh, I did," I replied, grinning. "I couldn't stand another minute of that woman. And besides," I felt my ears go warm as I spoke, "The only interesting thing of Art disappeared in the moment you closed the classroom door behind you."

She blushed, and I felt my heart do several backflips when I saw that shy, beautiful smile I loved tilting her lips up. I stopped by the corner, pulled her close and kissed those lips, unable to resist; she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned into me, placing a hand on my chest.

"What was that for?" she asked in a whisper when we pulled apart a few seconds later.

_Because I love you, _I thought as I tucked a stray curl back into its place behind her ear. How I wished I could tell her so much…

"Because you are beautiful," I whispered instead, placing another light kiss on her lips. "And brilliant…And wonderful in everything you do," I said between kisses, as she blushed darker with every word I spoke.

She smiled, shaking her head with an amused look on her face, and pulled me close once more, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me full on the mouth, taking my breath away.

"What was that for?" I asked, bewildered, when we parted. She smirked, taking my right hand – my left arm was still in the plaster – and lacing her fingers with mine.

"Because you are yourself."

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

The next morning we all woke up early, as though it was another school day; the atmosphere was different, though, and the happiness and expectation were so dense they were almost touchable.

"It's today, it's today!" Emma squealed every ten seconds, bouncing back and forth from her room to mine as she got dressed, a huge grin on her face. She had done nothing but talking about Tommy for two weeks, and she was overly cheerful at the thought of having her best friend at her house for ten whole days – which included her birthday, the following week.

"I know it's today," I told her, smiling, as I bent to smooth her frizzy hair down. Lavender and Tommy's flight would have arrived at noon at Heathrow Airport, and we were getting ready to go there and pick them up – I still couldn't believe Aunt Elspeth had volunteered to drive to London and back to get them, when Lavender's parents were more than willing to let their kids get to a town near Ottery St Catchpole with a train from King's Cross.

"They don't know London, and God knows where they could end up on their own!" she had said when she had talked on the phone with Mrs Brown the previous week, closing the argument.

So there we were, dressed in comfortable jeans and hoodies, having a quick breakfast with a cup of tea and a buttered toast, not even bothering to sit down at the kitchen table while we ate.

At eight o'clock we climbed in Aunt Elspeth's car, and we left, leaving the town behind in a matter of minutes. The first time we took that journey we were in the car with the crazy social assistant, Elizabeth, and at the time we were both way too scared from the speed at the girl was driving to enjoy the view; with Aunt Elspeth, instead, we had the possibility of looking around, and man, it was worth it.

Around us everything was colourful: both sides of the road were flanked by huge fields of bright red poppies, pale violet lavender and blue and yellow flowers which transformed the country in a giant rainbow, and the effect, adding the pale blue, cloudless sky above, was breath-taking.

It took us two hours and a half to get to the city, and before we reached the airport and found our way to gate seven, where the flight from Seattle was supposed to arrive, it was half past eleven, and Emma was looking more and more like one of those bobbing puppets people keeps on their cars' dashboards.

Aunt Elspeth sat down on a chair nearby, but I preferred to stay on my feet and follow Emma around as she paced restlessly – I didn't want to risk losing her in the crowd gathered around the gate's exit.

Time tickled by – quarter to noon, noon, quarter past twelve.

"How come they are not here yet?" Emma asked at twenty past twelve, grabbing my sleeve and looking up at me questioningly with her blue eyes.

"Maybe the flight is late," I said with a small shrug, caressing her ruffled head. "And remember that they have to get their luggage first."

Just then people started to walk through the gate doors, and I smiled instinctively, standing on my tiptoes to look over the crowd, looking for a tousled blondish head.

"Tommy!" Emma squealed suddenly, smiling widely and running forward, hugging tightly a little blonde boy with round glasses. Man, he had grown up a lot since I had last seen him!

His sister came right behind him, dragging a suitcase behind her, and we both squealed loudly when we saw each other, running forward and crashing in the middle, hugging and shrieking like mad, jumping up and down. People around us laughed, but I didn't care: I had missed her a lot!

"God, I can't believe that we are really here!" Lavender said, just at the same moment as I exclaimed: "God, I can't believe that you are really here!"

We exchanged an amused look and started laughing.

She hadn't changed the littlest bit – always an inch or so taller than me and slightly chubby, always wearing lots of bracelets on both wrists and colourful, eccentric hairbands to hold her tousled waist-length dirty blonde hair.

"Mione, your legs!" she cried suddenly, pressing a hand to her mouth, when she realized that I wasn't using crutches anymore.

"Yep, I'm me again!" I exclaimed, feeling wonderfully happy. I was pretty sure those moments were among the best ten of my life – which included Emma's birth, the Christmas Eve celebration at the Weasleys', my wonderful first date on January and the last St Valentine's day (and most of which, if I thought about it, I had lived since I came to England).

"You have to tell me so much! And your boyfriend – I want to know everything!" she squealed, hugging me again as I laughed at her exuberance.

"Come on," I told her as Emma and Tommy walked to us, talking quietly and quickly in a conspiracy tone. "I'll introduce you to my Aunt."

We ate some sandwiches sitting in front of a huge window which gave onto the runways, and then we walked back to our car – there was so much to talk about, so many things we hadn't been able to tell each other through the emails, that I suspected we would have talked non-stop until night.

It took lots of pushing and patience to stuff the suitcase and two backpacks in the luggage compartment, but eventually we did it, and we climbed inside, Emma and Tommy in the back while Lavender and I squeezed up in the long front seat.

We spent the whole time chatting – how things were in my old school in Seattle, how her parents were, what we were planning to do during those ten days, which, we already knew, would have passed way too quickly for our taste – and the return trip seemed much shorter than the previous one.

"Oh my God, you really live here?" Lavender asked, goggling at the old brick house as Aunt Elspeth parked in the lawn.

I grinned, helping her with her luggage, and led her inside and upstairs – Lavender would have slept on a camping mattress in my room, just like she used to do when we were kids and she spent the night at my house, and we were both happy at the idea of sharing the same bedroom once again.

"You room is wonderful! I'm going to talk Mom and Dad into renewing mine, I want something alike too!" she said, smiling, as we left her suitcase at the foot of my bed.

I grinned wider and linked my arm through hers, steering her back in the living room and then out in the yard, showing her the hills and huge spaces around.

"Cool! I thought places like this existed only in pictures, you know," she said with a chuckle.

I smiled, turning my head to look behind my shoulder: it was true, that day the old house, bathed in the warm spring sun and with the perfect blue sky and the gentle green slopes of the hills in the background, really looked like something just came out of an eighteenth century painting. The thing was, despite the reason why I had to go to England in the first place, I had never been happier before. That place really felt like home, much more than our old apartment in Seattle.

"I am happy here," I said softly, holding my hand out to include our surroundings in one gesture. "Have you ever felt a peace like this?" I asked her, as a gentle gust of cool wind ruffled my hair, blowing a few curls in front of my eyes.

Lavender shook her head, her eyes looking almost in awe at the breath-taking landscape around us.

"It is as though time flows differently here. There are no threats, no dangers; I can let Emma go to the park with her school friends without feeling worried, and I can walk home in the dark without being scared of something bad happening to me. For the first time in my life, I'm…_free_," I uttered, inhaling deeply before turning back and walking up the slope, towards the house.

Lavender followed me up, but said nothing the whole way up.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

That day, when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky, and everything around me – the golden light coming from outside, the smell of eggs and coffee coming from downstairs, the loud laughs and voices of my family downstairs – felt wonderfully like holiday.

I dressed up in no hurry, enjoying just having time to waste, and I went down in the kitchen, where my whole family was already sitting and having breakfast.

"Morning," I said, grinning and dropping in my usual chair beside Ginny.

"Good morning to you, sleepyhead," Ginny said, grinning back and pushing a plate of eggs and bacon towards me. "Your timing is perfect; I was just about to come upstairs and check on you to see if you were alive."

I bumped her with my shoulder and started to eat, smiling the whole way through it.

"Aww, is Ickle Ronniekins happy this morning?" Fred asked, elbowing George and smirking at me.

"Tell me, is by chance involved a pretty girl with bushy hair we all know well?"

I totally ignored their comments, along with the small smiles my mother and father exchanged at the Twins' words; bloody hell, did Fred and George really have to talk about it in front of our parents? They never teased Ginny, and she spent every free moment with Harry!

"I'm done," Ginny said in that moment, smiling and standing up, placing her plate in the sink on her way out. "I'm meeting with Harry and Luna at the Three Broomsticks – anyone wants to join?"

"I'm in," I said immediately, just as the Twins raised their hands up as well to volunteer. I had nothing to do – it was only a quarter past eleven, and I knew Hermione wouldn't have been home at least until four in the afternoon – so, between moping around the fields for hours (it was incredible, how I suddenly found myself without anything to do when she wasn't around; it was as though the centre of my world had shifted, and it now revolved around her) and spending the morning with the others, the choice was obvious.

We ate the rest of our breakfast quickly, grabbed our jackets and squeezed up in the Twin's old car, heading into town. When we got to the Three Broomsticks, though, we didn't find only Harry and Luna sitting at our usual table.

It was as though half the school had suddenly decided to meet there – Parvati Patil, Neville, Dean and Seamus, the Creevey brothers, and Angelina, Katie and Alicia from the football team, plus a quantity of other students from fifth year above, among whom I recognized Padma (Parvati's twin) and Cho Chang (who was in her last year like Fred and George) from Ravenclaw, and Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff.

"Is there some kind of meeting I forgot about?" Ginny asked as she plopped down next to Harry; everyone squeezed a bit to make room for the rest of us, and we sat down as well around the four tables Madam Rosmerta had put together to fit the small crowd.

"Oh, we kind of met on our way here," Luna said, smiling and shrugging. "I came here with Neville, and we met Cho, Padma and Parvati walking around, and Hannah with her friends near Florian's, so they joined us."

"And I brought along the team, plus Colin and Dennis," Harry added lightly, grinning at me.

"Hey, only Hermione's missing," Parvati said, looking around with the air of a teacher counting the students' heads during a trip. "How come she's not here?" she then asked me – everyone knew that it wasn't easy to find us apart.

"She's in London," Ginny answered for me, leaning over Harry to look at the girl. "A friend of her is coming from America to stay at her place during the holidays, and she went to pick her up at the airport."

"Cool!" Padma joined in, grinning. "I'm curious to meet her; I think I heard Hermione talking about this girl a few weeks ago at lunch."

"Well, why don't we all drop by her house later then? We could say hi, and I bet she would be incredibly amused to see us all - I mean, how many of us are there? Twenty-something, right? She will have a good laugh seeing us all wandering around like some kind of large nomad tribe!" Neville said, grinning and leaning over on his elbows.

"I think it's a good idea," Hannah uttered with a smile – I knew she and Hermione got on pretty well; she had once told me that they always shared the same desk during Botanic.

"Who else is in?" Neville asked; my hand raised almost of its own accord, and others followed my lead, until we all had agreed unanimously.

"She should be back around four," I said, grinning and joining the plan more than happily. Neville was right, Hermione would have probably been surprised to see all of us – in a good way. "How about we all meet back here at four thirty and head to her house together? On bikes or foot, it's mandatory – cars won't be allowed in the march," I added, with great despair from the farthest end of the table, where Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Cho and my brothers – the only ones who were of age already – sat.

"It's set, then," Luna said, absentmindedly twirling her long necklace – hung at which was some odd sort of pendant shaped like a large orange radish.

We split up then, and soon only our closest group remained, and we spent the rest of the morning sitting there chatting about the upcoming afternoon, laughing and feeling free and careless.

We went back home for lunch, and after Ginny gave Mum some help with the dishes we engaged a two-against-two football match for practice – since I was out of game for the rest of the year Gryffindor was one player under, and while Dean took my place as keeper, Ginny entered the team to fill the gap in attack. And man, she was a fury when she played, to the point that she alone had scored five goals during the previous week's match against Hufflepuff. I was starting to think Harry would have kicked out someone the next year so that she could enter the team permanently.

At four o'clock we grabbed our jackets, said a hasty goodbye to our parents and headed into town; it was no big deal for me travelling around with my bicycle, even with only one functioning arm – I just had to go slow, and I had no problems, even carrying Ginny on the saddle behind me – and the Twins were way too happy to retrieve the old, battered tandem that passed from our parents, to Bill and Charlie, and finally to them, until they were old enough to drive.

When we got in front of the Three Broomsticks the road was already packed, and it seemed as though almost everyone had arrived, in a way or the other: Harry, Neville and many others on bikes, like us, Luna, who was sitting on what looked like a bicycle – but which had the front wheel twice the normal size, strings of small bells hanging from the handlebars, and glittery silver and gold stars applied all over its midnight blue frame – and the whole Hufflepuff lot on foot.

"Are we late?" I asked Harry, carefully hitting the brakes single-handed to stop. Ginny jumped down immediately – she was apparently frightened about how precarious my balance was with only half of my usual control on the bike – to climb on the bike behind him, and Harry smiled, shaking his head.

"We are still waiting for the Creeveys – no, wait, there they are!" he said, pointing at a dark spot shooting at crazy speed down the road.

"Are we the last ones? Sorry!" Colin said, the wheels of his bike squealing loudly as he came to a sudden stop, almost unsaddling his brother, who was sitting behind him on the parcel carrier.

"No need to worry; it's us who were early. It's only four thirty-five," Harry said, smiling. "Now come on, it's a bit of a journey to the Grangers' house from here."

We left in a tight group, the ones of us who were on bikes going slow so that the ones on foot didn't have to run to keep up, and we made our way through the town, under the amused and sometimes bewildered eyes of the adults – I had to admit, we were quite the show, being so many and strolling down the main road as though we were on parade.

"You go first," Harry told me when we reached the last turn before Hermione's house. "You go there as it is nothing, talk to her, and then we come out at your signal."

I rolled my eyes; he had a thing for planning everything.

"How theatrical you are," I muttered, mocking him and grinning, before pedalling forward and emerging into the Grangers' lawn.

Little Emma was playing in the yard with a little blond boy I had never seen before, and she smiled when she saw me, waving happily before running into the house and calling for her sister on top of her lungs.

Hermione poked her head outside, and she smiled when she saw me, shaking her head.

"You are going to break your other arm too, if you go on using the bike with only one hand!" she called, laughing, as she descended the three steps that separated the door from the lawn and joined me.

I grinned, bending my head to steal a kiss from her lips, and she blushed, but kissed me back for a moment before pulling away as a blond head poked from the door.

"Oh, hi! You must be Mystery Boy!" the unknown girl called, skipping down the steps to join us.

The first thing I thought when I saw her was, _Loud_: she was dressed in a shocking pink hoodie, which matched the wide hairband that pulled her blondish hair back, and she was wearing a lot of makeup on her eyes. Everything in her seemed to be screaming, _Look at me!_

I looked at Hermione by her side – wearing a pale blue sweater and no makeup, her dark, gorgeous hair let down as always – and I couldn't help thinking that they were complete opposites – thanking God. If I had to be honest, this girl – Lavender, was that her name? – reminded me a little too much of Hadley and her lot, and I wasn't exactly sure whether that first impression was positive or not.

"I'm Lavender; Hermione's best friend," she introduced herself, smiling and holding out her hand; I noticed she had several rings on her fingers, and that her fingernails were painted bright orange. I shook it briefly, stiffly; there was something slightly off with that girl, and I wasn't sure what it was.

"I'm Ron," I said simply, drawing Hermione close with my good arm; that simple gesture would have made any further explanation superfluous.

"You know, I was really curious about you – I mean, Hermione never had a boyfriend before, it was as though she didn't even notice boys existed – and then she comes here and, poof!, she starts talking about you!" the girl blabbered at top-speed, and I frowned as Hermione blushed scarlet and looked down; the comment didn't sound nice to me at all.

"So, what brings you here? I wasn't expecting your visit, and I'm pretty curious about what could be behind it," Hermione said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking extremely embarrassed and trying to change the subject.

I smiled, knowing that the others would have been able to cheer her up a bit.

"Oh, just passing by," I lied, eyeing the turn of the road, where a few heads were starting to poke out in curiosity. "Actually, some of us met this morning, and we decided it would have been nice to pay you a visit, and know this American friend we heard so much about."

"Are the others here, too?" Hermione asked, smiling a little. I laughed, nodding, and waved at the tousled jet-black hair poking from the side of the road.

Harry showed me the thumbs-up, and I heard him yell: "C'mon, folks!"

Hermione started to laugh when she saw the small crowd entering the lawn; her eyes were wide and bright as she waved at them all.

"How – you brought half the school!" she said, grinning up at me.

"Well, what can I say, we are a bunch of nosy people, you know that," I said, quickly kissing the tip of her nose and grinning at Harry and Neville as they passed by.

"My name's Harry," the first said grinning at Lavender. "One of Hermione's best friends."

"And I'm Neville," the other said proudly, with a huge grin. "Housemate and affectionate friend."

One by one, they introduced themselves, some of them directly, others just yelling their names from behind.

"I'm Hannah!" "Justin!" "Padma and Parvati, twins!" "I'm Dean, pleased to meet you!" "Hello, I'm Seamus!"

The girl was staring at us open-mouthed, nodding automatically as names and greetings rained on her from every spot.

"Don't mind them, they are crazy!" Hermione told her, still laughing.

"Yes, but you love us anyway!" Ginny objected happily, as she and Luna linked their arms through hers.

At that, I saw something shift in Lavender's eyes – was it rage? I wasn't sure, but I didn't like it – _at all_.

"We're her second family; how couldn't she love us?" Neville said meanwhile, wrapping his arm around Luna's shoulders. "After all, she's a bit crazy too, if she fits with us!"

"C'mon, folks, you are going to scare her this way!" Hermione said amusedly, holding a hand out to Lavender.

The girl took it, but her smile didn't reach her eyes, and I couldn't help wondering if she really was that great friend Hermione thought she was.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

I had to admit, after that afternoon things didn't go exactly well with Lavender.

She was grumpy and moody, and I started to feel annoyed by her odd behaviour; I found myself much less happy that I thought I would have been, once the excitement of re-joining had worn off.

The following days were nothing different – she was overly bossy and impatient, and so loud she made my ears hurt. I was used to the Twins' jokes and exuberant behaviour, but while what they did was funny, Lavender was a pain. I had to ask the others not to visit me, because she would complain endlessly about how I was supposed to spend my time with her, and I missed them terribly – Ron and Ginny especially.

It went on like that for five whole, endless days, until one evening, at dinner, while we were talking – actually _she _was talking, while I pretended to listen – she said something that caught my attention – in the worst of ways.

"…you have to admit, though, that those kids who visited you _are _quite strange; I mean, that girl with pale blond hair and blue eyes, what was her name, have you seen the awful earrings and necklace she was wearing, with those funny pendants? Man, she really looked weird! And the other, the redhead, with her worn out clothes and ripped jeans – she looked like her family is utterly penniless, didn't she? Both weirdoes, trust me with that…"

My fork clattered on my plate and fell on the floor, but I didn't care; who did she think she was, talking about Luna and Ginny, two of my _best friends_, like that?

"They are not! Luna is eccentric, but kind and honest, and they Weasleys might not be rich, but they are the best people I have ever met! You have no right of talking about them like that!" I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks blush as anger rose. Lavender and I had never argued, as long as I remembered, but her words were too much.

"Oh, yeah, your best friends? Good influence they have on you; look at you! They got you brain-washed; I thought _I _was your best friend! Since when do you yell like that at me, and disagree with everything I do? You didn't used to be like that!" she replied, a mean look in her eyes I had never seen before – not with me, at least. That was the unkind side of her that usually emerged with other girls, but never when I was around; I used to step over it, but that night it just made me even angrier than I already was. "And what about that accent you have developed? Now you talk like a goody-two-shoes little English schoolgirl! You are not yourself anymore!"

"I _am_, instead, now more than I have ever been before! I am alive, and I finally know where I stand! I grew up!"

"You have changed!" Lavender shrieked; I saw Aunt Elspeth shooing the children upstairs and hurrying behind them, not wanting to stand in the way – or, more probably, to give keep her eardrums from exploding because of our high-pitched screams.

"And it is the best thing I could ever do! I am happy now, and free, and I have a life! I am not the bookworm only useful for homework anymore; people consider me outside the school, and they like me for what I am!" I replied hotly, feeling tears well up in my eyes. She should have been happy to see me like that, to see that I had found my place there, but she wasn't. She looked…_jealous_. Like she didn't want me to be happy without her.

"I don't think so!" Lavender shrilled stubbornly, red patches of anger colouring her pale cheeks.

"Well, I'm sorry for you, but things are like this now! And if you don't like them, then it's better if we are not friends anymore, because this is who I am, and I have no intentions of going back to my old self, always shy and unsure and scared of living my life, just because you need someone to follow you around like a faithful little puppy!"

I stood, put my plate in the sink on my way out and climbed the steps to my room two at a time, slamming my door behind me.

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, fighting back tears, and grabbed my cell phone; I needed to get out of there, or I would have gone insane.

There was a message from Ron which I hadn't read – the numbers on the display told me it was delivered only five minutes before, when I was too busy fighting with Lavender to hear the chiming bells of the ringtone.

**I miss u.**

I closed my eyes for a moment, resting my back against the door; then typed a quick reply.

**Do u think u can come and pick me up?**

I had to wait less than a minute for his reply; knowing him, he was waiting with his phone in hand.

**I'll be yr place in 10 min. **

Despite everything, a small smile tilted my lips upwards; I missed him so much, after five days without being able to see him, or even call him – we communicated only by messages, or Lavender would have started again with her _you don't want to be with me _bore.

I slid my phone in the pocket of my jeans and stomped out in the corridor, almost knocking aunt Elspeth down in the process.

"You are going out?" she asked me, worry plain on her face.

I nodded, taking a deep breath to calm myself. _One, two, three…_

"I need to clear my head," I muttered, trying to smile a little. "Don't worry. I'll just go for a walk – and Ron will be with me, I won't be alone."

She nodded understandingly, and gently patted my arm.

"Maybe your friendship can now work only when the two of you are separated," she told me softly. "It happens, when you grow up: people change, and suddenly they don't get on with each other anymore, because they've become too different. It's life, honey."

I smiled a teary smile and almost ran downstairs, carefully avoiding the kitchen where, I knew, Lavender was still fuming.

I grabbed my jacket, wrapped my rainbow-striped scarf around my neck and walked out in the slightly chilly air, sitting down onto the cold stone steps.

It was almost dark, and the sky was of a deep blue-violet colour at the horizon, some puffy clouds gathered here and there; apparently, the sunny weather was not to last long.

It wasn't long before I heard the squeak of the old bike's wheels, and then he was there, with his hair ruffled from the wind and a smile on his face. Always ready to help me and protect me, no matter what.

He let the bike fall on the ground beside him, and I ran straight into his arms, tears prickling my eyes and threatening to overflow.

"Hey, what happened?" he asked softly, wiping the salty drops from my face with his good hand, looking worried. I shook my head, pointing at the living room window, where Lavender was standing glaring at us.

"Not here," I pleaded, sniffling quietly. I couldn't break down where she could see me; I wouldn't have given her that satisfaction.

He nodded, jumping back on his bike and making room for me behind him; I wasn't afraid to fall anymore, so I climbed on and wrapped my arms around his waist as we took off in the fields behind the house, sliding down the gentle slope of the hill until we were in the middle of nowhere, far from the view of my house.

"What happened?" he asked again, wrapping his arms around me as we sat down onto the ground.

"She – that _viper_ – I couldn't just stay there and listen to her anymore. She didn't want me to spend time with you because she was jealous, and she was so bossy and annoying, always whining if we didn't do what she wanted…And tonight she started to say horrible things about Luna and Ginny and the others, and I – I couldn't just listen to her anymore," I whispered into his jacket as he held me tightly, caressing my hair.

"We fought – she said that I had changed, that – that you brain-washed me, and that she was supposed to be my best friend…She was angry at me because I was _happy_, Ron, even when she wasn't around. She used to be my only friend back in Seattle, the only one I talked to, and I always followed her around, knowing that if I didn't do it I would have been completely alone – I told her that I had grown up, that I had learned to live…It was awful. We were screaming at each other…She isn't who I thought she was."

"I'm sorry," Ron murmured in my hair, smoothing my hair down. "I'm sorry for everything she told you. She's just a bitch," I smiled as I heard that, "And she doesn't deserve a thousandth of your friendship, or of your pain."

"I should have understood earlier, I think, from when she had started to make those comments the day she arrived here – when she saw you, and she started blabbering about how…_scarce _she thought my life was back in my old school; I felt mortified then," I muttered darkly, remembering how embarrassed I had felt as she said that in front of Ron.

He rubbed my back gently, nuzzling my cheek and pressing a light kiss there.

"You don't have to be ashamed of anything with me, you know that," he murmured as I tightened my arms around his middle, breathing in his familiar scent – of clean laundry, wood from the Burrow and freshly mowed grass. I loved it – it made me feel incredibly safe, like a small child tucked in bed. Ron pulled me closer, and I sighed as the sadness and pain faded away; I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling warm and protected in the circle of his arms as he slowly caressed my hair with his good hand.

"I know," I murmured; I trusted him with all my heart – a thing I never allowed myself to do before I met him, for I had always been scared to rely on someone that way. But I had changed so much, and if there was something I had learned in those last months, was that loving someone even for one day was worth any pain that might follow – for any suffering would have meant that I had lived, and felt, and given as much as I could. I had spent way too much time trying to shield myself from the world to do it anymore.

During the last few days – the last few weeks, actually – I had started to realize that there was more into what I felt for Ron than I thought: I looked at him when he couldn't see me – during classes, when he thought I was paying attention to the teacher – and studied him, noticing all those small things about him that made me smile with affection, causing my heart rate to go crazy.

It was how he ruffled his hair whenever he was embarrassed, the way he always left the tie of his uniform loose, knowing that I would have reached out and fixed it as soon as I noticed, the pattern his freckles draw on the skin of his face and arms.

I could have spent a lifetime counting his freckles.

It was the sound of his laughter, the spark that always appeared in his eyes when he smiled my favourite crooked smile, the way light played in his hair during sunny days, bringing out the golden reflexes in it.

It was his bravery, the loyalty to his friends, the affection I saw in his eyes when he sat with me in the park and watched Emma playing around.

I loved all those things, and a thousand more – I loved _him_, for everything he was and did in every moment. I didn't know when I first really fell for him – maybe when I saw him rush in the corridor to save me from Malfoy weeks before, maybe the day he got injured during the match and told me that the reason why he could have never liked that Ravenclaw girl was that she wasn't me, maybe when he kissed me on the doorsteps of my house as snow fell on us, the night of our first date. Or maybe I had fallen in love with him again and again in each of those moments, more times than I could count.

God knew how much I wanted to tell him that – that I loved him so much being away from him was starting to become actually painful – but I knew it wasn't the right moment yet.

He gently lifted my face to kiss me, slow and sweet, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to his embrace.

Soon – soon the right moment would have come, I was sure. But for now, my heart had made its decision.

We stayed in the field for a long time, at first just sitting there, and then standing up to walk around in the tall grass, Ron's arm on my shoulders and mine around his waist; as much as I wished I could stay there forever, though, I had to go home, and we eventually got back to the bike.

When Ron stopped in front of my house it was somewhere around ten, and the windows were all dark except for Aunt Elspeth's. The light over the door was still on, and it cast a warm, yellowish glow on the otherwise dark footsteps – it made me think of a lighthouse, something made so that my way home wasn't dark when I got back. For some reason the thought made my eyes sting a little, and I shoved the sensation away as I slid off the bike, reluctantly loosening my arms from around Ron's waist.

He laughed softly as I _humph_ed under my breath – having to deal with Lavender wasn't exactly on top of my _Things I like doing _list. To be honest, it was at the very, very bottom of it, probably somewhere in between 'dating Malfoy' and 'drowning kittens'.

Ugh.

"Remember: if she says or does anything – and I mean _anything_," Ron said as he reached out to lace his fingers with mine. "That she shouldn't, call me. Whatever you need me to do – throw her out of the house, tie her feet-first to the North Tower of the school, or knock her out – I'll be here in ten round minutes."

I smiled, shaking my head and tugging playfully at the collar of his jacket.

"You'll be the first to know," I assured him, trying to keep a straight face – the mental picture of Lavender dangling upside-down from the tallest tower of Hogwarts was incredibly amusing, and it was hard not to laugh at the thought.

"Will you drop by tomorrow?" I asked then in my best hopeful tone; I didn't care what Lavender did or said, she kept me from seeing Ron for five days, and I wanted to spend with him as much time as I could now.

"'Course I will, beautiful," he replied, smiling and causing a small dimple in the side of his nose appear.

I blushed at his words, looking down at the mud-spattered old black Converse I was wearing.

_Beautiful._

He often called me that, a thing I wasn't used to – apart from my mother, no one had ever told me that I was beautiful, and mothers are made to believe their daughters are the prettiest things in the world, so that didn't even count. I had always felt like I was well within average, almost invisible with my bushy hair, too-skinny frame and pale skin – I was one of the palest kids in my old school in Seattle, and that was saying something, considering that we all lived in the same almost-sunless city. How many times I had wished I was like those girls I saw passing by in the corridors – all tanned skin, sleek, glossy hair and curvy hips, showing a confidence I only dreamed about…

Yet Ron managed to make me feel exactly like I was one of them – the way he looked at me didn't leave any doubt on it; it was more sincere than any word he could ever say.

_Beauty in the eye of the beholder, _Luna always said when she looked in amazement to something ordinary, like a small flower in the grass or a cloud in the sky, and we gave her funny looks. I knew she was right about that – she was right on many more things that people usually gave her credit for, even if I had doubts myself on the existence of Snockoracks and Nargles, whatever they were.

"Goodnight," he murmured then, bringing our still joined hands to his face to press a light kiss on my skin.

I smiled softly, feeling more blood flow in my cheeks. "Goodnight," I whispered as he released my hand; he straightened his bike and smiled at me one last time before he pedalled away, disappearing behind the turn in the dark road in a matter of seconds.

I stayed there rooted to the spot for a few seconds, the back of my hand still feeling hot where his lips had touched it; then a sharp gust of wind made me shiver, and I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck as I turned, fumbling in my pocket to retrieve my keys before I opened the door and stepped in. I had to admit, I was incredibly relieved that Lavender was nowhere to be seen; I was still too angry to come to peaceful terms with her, especially after the things she had said.

I climbed upstairs quietly, gently tapping with my fingers on Aunt Elspeth's door to let her know that I was back before I cracked my door open and peeked inside. Lavender's camping mattress was empty – not that I was expecting otherwise, of course; instead, barely visible in the sliver of light filtering through the open door, there was a small, small figure curled up in the middle of my bed – a figure wearing a pink flowered nightgown and hugging a battered plush Eeyore to her chest.

"You still awake?" I asked under my breath as I stepped in, silently closing the door behind me.

"Mh-mm," Emma muttered, rolling on her other side to look at me. Even in the almost complete darkness, I could see that her big blue eyes were sad. "She is sleeping with Tommy in my room tonight," she said softly, tugging at her Eeyore's ears thoughtfully.

I nodded, sitting on the bed beside her.

"Why did she say those bad things about Ginny and the others?" she asked, scooting closer to me and resting her head on my lap. "It was very mean." I sighed, caressing her ruffled head and passing an arm around her.

"I don't know, honey," I said honestly, closing my eyes for a moment. "I really don't know."

"You were shouting pretty loudly," she got on quietly. "I could hear you from up here. She sounded very angry."

She stayed in silence for a few moments, staring at the duvet.

"It's not true that you sound like a goody-two-shoes English schoolgirl, you know," she said after a few seconds, her voice serious and low. It was incredible, how grown-up she could sound sometimes. "She said that just because she knew you would have been upset, but I don't think she really meant that. Tommy said she was afraid she was losing you, and I think that maybe she showed it to you the wrong way."

I smiled a little, closing my eyes for a moment. I wasn't sure whether I believed it or not – I needed to sleep on it and cool down before I could think reasonably about it.

"Maybe," I agreed, gently placing her head back on the bed and reaching for my pyjamas under the pillow – an oversized t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cotton trousers.

I changed into them quickly, kicking the shoes under my bed and throwing my discarded jeans and sweater on the chair – I would have put them back into place tomorrow; then I padded to the bathroom to brush my teeth and find a rubber band to pull my hair back with – I hated strands prickling my face as I slept.

When I got back Emma was still on my bed, with the difference that she had scooted to the side to make room for me – it was clear that she had no intention of sleeping in the camp bed. It had been a while since she last insisted to sleep close to me – a thing that made both sadness and affection swell in my chest. I curled up under the covers, and Emma immediately snuggled in my side; Crookshanks, who had been sleeping quietly on the cushion of the bow-window, joined us shortly, settling down on my feet in a warm, purring ball of orange fur.

"Mione, can I ask you something?" Emma murmured sleepily after a while, looking up at me through half-closed eyelids.

"Of course," I replied, playing absentmindedly with the heart-shaped locket hung at my neck; I wasn't sleepy at all, maybe because of everything that had just happened – I didn't react well to that kind of stress.

"Do you ever dream of them?" she asked softly, her voice so small my heart squeezed painfully. "Of Mum and Dad?"

I swallowed hard; I could feel a hard lump in my throat, and unwanted tears prickled my eyes. Of course I dreamed about them – almost every night. At first I had nightmares – I just kept seeing the scene of the accident again and again – but after a few weeks, as the searing pain subdued to a dull ache, the images had changed, becoming memories of happy days spent together, of birthdays and Christmases and family trips to the beach, or sometimes images of my parents walking together in a field of wildflowers, holding hands, shining with a pure, bright white light that didn't seem to belong to Earth. It probably was because that was how I wished them to be – happy and still together, in a beautiful place where pain and grief didn't exist.

"Yes," I said simply, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Yes, I dream of them."

"I do, too," she murmured, sounding terribly sad. "But it's becoming difficult to remember some things. The sound of Mum's voice when she sang , or what her perfume smelled like, or the feeling of Dad's bear hugs when he came back from work – it is starting to feel like one of those old black-and-white movies we sometimes watched with them on TV, or like one of Dad's old discs, the large black ones he used to listen to with that kind of gramophone. The images are confused and faded, and you can hear that crackling behind the voices, and – I don't want to forget it all, Hermione. I don't want to!"

She was sobbing quietly, and I pulled her close, pressing my face to her hair to hide that I was crying too. She was right – remembering was difficult, even for me. It was like trying to grab at smoke with bare hands – memories just slipped away, even if you tried to hold onto them with all your might. Someone once said that leaving was difficult, but that staying behind was worse – I was starting to understand what it meant: watching helplessly as memories of loved ones became blurry was almost as bad as losing those loved ones all over again.

"I know, honey," I said, sniffling and swallowing hard. "I don't want to forget, either. But – memories are like this. They fade, and we have to let them go at some point. But you won't forget completely – only small things. The best, the happiest moments – those don't go away, ever. They are always here," I murmured, touching the pendant I always wore. "In our hearts."

_Forever_, I added in my mind, thinking about that one single word written inside the locket.

But did such thing, _forever_, really exist?

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><p><strong>So, what do you think? As always...Liked it? Hated it? Let me know! I'm sick with a bad cold, so I have nothing to do but sit in front of my laptop all day; besides, reviews - <em>lots<em> of reviews - are the best medicine, everyone knows, and I bet they would help me get better... ;)**

**Stay tuned for the next update during the weekend!**


	17. Chapter 15

**Note to self: never, _ever _set any kind of deadline if I don't know how much homework a third-year can get. Really.**

**Anyway, mea culpa: I know I should have published, what, like, six weeks ago?, but I had to study so much I didn't have any time left to write, so it took me an awfully long time to complete this chapter (and I had to wait the October Exams to come to an end). My professors could be compared to Death Eaters.**

**I have made this chapter longer than the others, but it wasn't easy to write it - it's one of the last chapters of the story, so I have to make everything fit together well, a thing I'm not very good at. If you find incongruences, please, pms me and tell me - I'll fix them up immediately.**

**So, I guess that's all. Sorry again for the awful delay, and enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter 15: Of Birthday Parties and Runaways, of Desperate Searches and Unwanted Truths<p>

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><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

When I woke up the next morning, I discovered that I was just as angry as the previous night, no matter how much Emma had tried to soften my moods. One thing had changed, though: I had decided to talk face-to-face with Lavender, if not to discuss diplomatically to begin round two of our yelling match. I marched downstairs in my pyjamas and fluffy slippers, my best you-are-in-trouble look on my face, ready to fight – but when I entered the kitchen I only found Aunt Elspeth and little Tommy sitting at the table.

My anger and bellicose intentions deflated instantly like a punctured balloon, and I sighed, flopping down on my usual chair and accepting the cup of coffee my aunt pushed towards me with a smile.

"Morning," Tommy said in a small voice; he looked almost afraid of me like he thought I was angry with him too.

"Morning to you, little Tom," I said, smiling and ruffling his blond head: he had nothing to do with all of this mess we had caused, and I didn't want him to feel guilty for anything.

"Good morning, Auntie!" Emma chirped as she bounced in the kitchen, completely dressed – how she had managed that, I didn't know, since she was still sleeping when I got out of my room five minutes before. "Morning, Tommy!"

The little boy smiled, pushing his round glasses up his nose and quickly chewing on the last bite of his cookie before he jumped down his chair.

"You have breakfast while I go and get dressed – this way you won't have to wait for me before we go play outside," he explained, grinning before grabbing two more cookies from the large plate on the table and rushing out. There was no need to ask him who the extra breakfast was for – it was way too obvious.

That Lavender was avoiding me wasn't so strange, after all. The fact that I didn't even get a glimpse of her around the house for the rest of the week, though, was more than strange – it was as though she always was locked up in Emma's room, eating what Aunt Elspeth brought her upstairs and showering only very early in the morning or after I had gone to bed at night so that she was sure we didn't cross ways. Not that I was bothered, of course – I spent the whole time out with Harry, Ron and Ginny, studying or simply hanging out in the warm sun, apparently unusual for that time of the year, and I didn't have any intention of talking with her anytime soon. I had changed my mind about talking with her – it would have been useless anyway, since she apparently didn't even want to see me (a pretty hard thing to do since she was staying in my own house) and I was sure that if I saw her I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself from fighting with her _again_.

So we managed to avoid each other for the three days following our shouting match, and finally the 25th came, and Emma's birthday with it. It would have been the last day of Lavender and Tommy's stay in England, and as sad as I was at the thought of having to separate my little sister and her best friend once again, I was glad that torture would have been over soon.

That morning I woke up earlier than usual, carefully checking that Emma was still fast asleep before I tiptoed out of my bed and to my closet, in which I had hidden the large pink package that was her gift. It was one of those big, square boxes that kids always found so irritating because it was impossible to tell which gift was in them – I used to hate them myself when I was in grade school, and I knew perfectly well that Emma felt the same way.

I smiled imagining the look she would have had on her face when she saw the content – it was a large stuffed bunny with long floppy ears, a soft pink velvet bow tied around its neck and silky grey fur ; I had come across it two weeks before as I walked along the main street, and it was just too cute to leave it sitting in the Toy Shop's window. I had used all of the money I had left from the two months I had worked in the waiting staff of the Starbucks near my house the previous summer, but just imagining how happy Emma would have been made it worth it.

So I sat on the camping mattress that had been her bed for the last three nights – I had insisted for her to sleep there instead that with me, for after the first night I had discovered that she had developed the annoying habit of kicking in her sleep – and placed the box by my side as I gently shook her awake, singing softly 'Happy birthday to you' as she opened her eyes.

She blinked a few times and yawned hugely before she realized what day it was, and she sprang up suddenly, a huge grin on her face.

"I am six, Mione, I am six!" she cheered happily, bouncing on the mattress like a small, bushy-haired spring.

"I know, honey, I know!" I replied just as cheerfully, ruffling her already crazy hair and handing her her present. She widened her eyes and studied the box for a few seconds before she lifted it with both hands, weighing it and shaking it in the hope of guessing what was inside.

"Come on, little monkey, open it," I encouraged her, smiling as I watched her consider my words for a moment before she unceremoniously ripped away the pink paper wrapping and took the lid off the box.

"Wow!" she squealed as she took the soft bunny out, holding it at arm-length as she admired it enthusiastically. "It's super cute! I lovelovelove it!" she crooned as she hugged it to her chest, rubbing her cheek against the soft fur of its head. Without loosening her grip on the bunny, she crawled over to me and curled in my side in that way she did when she wanted a hug, looking up at me with adoring puppy eyes. "Thank you, Mione, thank you! It's fantastic!"

I laughed, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head – a not so easy thing with the stuffed bunny in between, for it was almost as big as Emma and it covered her for three-quarters.

Just then there was a soft knock on the door, and a moment later Aunt Elspeth's head poked in. She was already dressed, and the flowered apron she had on made me think she had just come up from the kitchen – suspect that was confirmed by the delicious smell that came in right after her, of sugar and chocolate and cinnamon and a hundred more yummy things.

"Happy birthday, dear!" she said cheerfully, a hundred crinkles framing her bright blue eyes as she beamed at us. Emma grinned, holding the stuffed bunny out for her to see it.

"Look, aunt!" she squealed, bouncing up and down on the mattress. "This is Mione's present! Isn't it _soo_ lovely?"

Aunt Elspeth laughed as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, hugging us both.

"Absolutely adorable, dear, just like my two girls," she said, her face glowing with a happiness I had rarely seen before. "Come on, come on, put your dressing gowns on and come downstairs. I made a special birthday breakfast today, and it's waiting for you in the kitchen!"

We made the move to get up, when Aunt Elspeth suddenly banged her forehead with her hand, widening her eyes.

"Oh, my – I almost forgot!" She fumbled in the large front pocket of the apron for a moment, and she took out a small blue velvet box from it – it was faded and discoloured in some spots, and it looked like it was very old.

"Here, this is for you," she said, handing it to Emma. "It was mine when I was more or less your age, and it's very old-fashioned, but I thought you might have liked it."

Emma looked curiously at the small box for a moment before she gingerly opened it, as though she was afraid it would have bitten her.

"Oh, wow," Emma breathed, her eyes wide and bewildered, when she saw the content.

A thin silver chain lay in the box, and there was a pendant attached to it – a small, beautiful butterfly in the centre of which was engraved an E written in an elegant, elaborated curly script. It was incredibly simple, yet I immediately thought that it was perfect; it was delicate and old-fashioned, and it reminded me strongly of the locket Ron had given me on St Valentine's day.

"It's beautiful, aunt," my sister murmured, her fingers lightly brushing the shiny surface of the pendant.

"I am glad you like it," aunt Elspeth said, smiling and stroking Emma's hair. "It has spent the last forty years at the bottom of my drawer; it was time for it to see the light again. It's a fortunate coincidence, isn't it, that both our names begin with the same letter."

Emma nodded, smiling as aunt Elspeth helped her putting the necklace on. On her, it looked even more beautiful.

"Come on, now," I said, grinning and jumping up. "I am starving. The first one who gets downstairs eats everything!"

"Hey, that's not fair!" Emma complained loudly, following me with her new stuffed bunny still in her arms; little Tommy, probably awoken by our shrieks, poked his tousled head out of Emma's room and grinned, immediately running after us as he hastily put his glasses on – the poor kid was almost blind when he didn't wear them.

Of Lavender, of course, there was no sign.

In the kitchen, the smell was heavenly – but the sight of the incredible amount of food on the table was even better, a thing I wouldn't have believed possible until a few moments ago.

It seemed as though Aunt Elspeth had baked every existing food with chocolate in it – chocolate pancakes, chocolate biscuits of every size and shape, brownies, chocolate chip muffins, and a small, five-people-sized version of her delicious chocolate and coconut cake, Emma's favourite.

"It's my birthday, I have the right to eat it all!" Emma squealed with a grin as she jumped on her chair and grabbed a plate, immediately starting to fill it with stacks of food.

Knowing her, she would have probably eaten everything for real, so I quickly sat down, too, and I started to eat, my stomach turning and growling in anticipation: I couldn't resist Aunt Elspeth's cooking, it was far too good to leave even crumbs in the plates.

Little Tommy imitated us shortly after, and when Aunt Elspeth joined us a minute later, she found the three of us half-hidden behind the stacks of biscuits, pancakes and whatever piled in front of us.

"So, you like this special breakfast?" she asked, amusement openly visible on her face as she sat down, too, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the steaming carafe on the counter.

"Delicious," I confirmed, attacking my slice of cake.

"Fabulous," Emma added, helping herself to her fifth pancake.

"Indescribable," little Tommy agreed, brushing away a smudge of chocolate on his nose.

"Oh, you kids are making me blush," Aunt Elspeth said, her eyes bright and her cheeks coloured as she smiled. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was affected by the tangible happiness radiating from Emma.

"Less compliments and more eating, come on," she then urged us, gulping down the rest of her coffee and standing up once again. "I'm sorry I have to shoo you out of the kitchen, but we have a party starting in less than eight hours and I have to cook food for the crowd of guests who will show up long before we are ready. After all, young girls don't turn six any day now."

Emma grinned at her words, and she gulped down the rest of her breakfast in three huge mouthfuls – how she managed to eat so much and at such speed and be so skinny, I would never understand. I suspected it had something to do with perpetual motion, though.

Aunt Elspeth put some food on a tray so that Tommy could bring it upstairs to Lavender, and then we left, the kids running upstairs before me.

"Come on, Em," Tommy said happily as he pushed his glasses up his nose with one hand while balancing the tray with the other. "I still haven't given you your birthday present!"

Emma grinned and quickly followed him inside the Rose Room, closing the door loudly behind her just as I reached the landing.

I stopped in front of the white door as my mind raced around in circles, thoughts fighting one another: I wasn't sure whether I should have entered the room and tried to talk to Lavender or if it would have been better leaving things as they were. On one hand I was still angry at her for the mean things she had said and I didn't even want to see her, let alone try to reason with her, and on the other I didn't want to let her go away the next day without even trying to understand why she had suddenly turned against me. Was it possible that after nine years spent always together, not arguing even once, we couldn't suddenly stand each other anymore? Were the shards of our fallen friendship really too small and sharp to be even picked up from the floor?

I stood there, my hand awkwardly stretched towards the handle, for what seemed like an eternity; then I sighed, shaking my head and walking back to my room in silence. If she hadn't even stuck a foot out of the room for days, maybe it was better that way: it would have been useless trying to talk to her, for I would have probably ended up feeling even angrier than I already was. I wasn't the one who had to apologize. And, even if I would have never admitted it out loud, I didn't want to talk to Lavender because I was afraid to acknowledge that she now hated me.

So much of a Gryffindor I was.

As I had very little to do besides sitting alone at my window, I decided to do something useful. We had organized a party for Emma's birthday in the afternoon, and since the friends we had invited had told other friends, who had told other friends, half the town would have showed up in front of our door at four o'clock; therefore, between cooking and decorating, there enough work to do to keep me occupied until that time.

After a quick shower, I wore the clothes I had put on the chair the previous night – my favourite pair of skinny blue jeans, a white polo shirt and a light red jumper – and then went downstairs, singing softly to myself as I pulled my still damp hair back in a ponytail.

"Need a hand, Aunt?" I asked as I poked my head in the kitchen; the oven was on, and Aunt Elspeth was cutting flower-shaped biscuits off a thick sheet of buttery dough that covered the whole table.

She smiled at me, and she pointed at a spare apron hung at the hook by the counter, a chequered green-and-white thing I wrinkled my nose at – it was in Slytherin colours, after all.

I quickly put it on, tying it with a large bow on my back, and I took another cookie cutter from the small basket on the counter – this one shaped like a star.

"Ever made biscuits before?" Aunt asked me, smiling as I gingerly pressed the metal frame into the dough. I shook my head, cocking my head to the side to admire my work from a better angle.

"Nope," I said, grinning and going back to work. "But I learn fast."

We spent hours in the kitchen, first making dozens of cookies, then a huge chocolate cake that looked more like something destined to a hundred-guests wedding party than to a six-year-old birthday, and then sandwiches and every kind of party food Aunt Elspeth seemed to know – and she seemed to have a whole cookbook in her brain.

When we finished it was lunchtime, and since there was very little left in the pantry after all that cooking our meal consisted in a quick sandwich and some tea, that Emma and Tommy decided to eat outside in the yard – I couldn't blame them, it was one of those rare days when the sun shone in an almost cloud-free sky.

Was it just my impression, or I saw a flash of shocking pink sweatshirt and dirty blonde hair from the door as they went?

It was about time that Lavender finally decided to come out of that room, but the fact that she had snuck out purposefully avoiding me was annoying; it was immature, running away from problems like that.

The fact that I was running away too didn't have any importance.

An hour or so later, while I was helping Aunt Elspeth decorating the giant cake with pink and white icing, I lifted my head to look at the clock above the door, and found instead five pairs of eyes staring at me from outside the window.

I grinned, shaking my head as I wiped my icing-stained hands on a dish towel, and I stuck my head out of the window, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, both amused and surprised. "I wasn't expecting you for at least two more hours!"

"Could it be that she doesn't want us here?" Fred asked, looking at me in mock offence.

"Definitely, bro," George answered, mirroring his twin's expression.

"Oh, shut up, you two!" Ginny scolded them, a very Mrs Weasley-ish look on her face; she didn't move to hit them like she usually did, though, probably because she was tucked in Harry's side.

"Yes, shut up, you two," Ron agreed, smiling at me and hitting both his brothers on the back of their heads as he passed to stand right in front of the window.

"We thought you might have needed help," he said, fiddling with his already dishevelled hair.

"Actually, _he _thought you might have needed help," Harry corrected him, grinning. "We are here as obliged volunteers."

"Obliged volunteers?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and staring questioningly at Ron, who looked like a little boy caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"It's just a technicality," he said with a shrug, his trademark blush creeping up his ears.

"Actually, you kids could take the tables from the tool shed and place them out in the yard; I'm too old to transport them back and forth," Aunt Elspeth said, never looking up from the three storeys masterpiece she was decorating. "And you could place the decorations, too – the boxes are in the shed, along with the ladder.

"Are you sure you don't need me here?" I asked her, failing miserably at hiding my hope; the perspective of spending the following hours decorating outside with my friends was too alluring to be ignored.

"Sure; you have already saved me an hour of work helping me," she told me, looking up with sparkling eyes as she smiled.

"Thank you, Aunt!"

I quickly undid the bow on my back, hung the apron on its hook and shot out of the back door, almost stumbling on my way.

"In a hurry?" Ron asked me, laughing softly, as he caught me before I could stumble – how he could always manage to get me before I could hurt myself, I still had to understand.

"Actually, yes, since we all have been recruited to bring out tables and decorations," I answered, blushing a little as he steadied me, pulling me close.

"Which means, you boys will do the hard work while we delicate ladies sit on the grass and watch," Ginny translated, leaving Harry's side to link arms with me.

"You, a delicate lady, little sister?" Fred uttered with a snort. "It would be like…"

"…like saying that an elephant is just an overgrown grey butterfly," George finished, scratching the back of his head.

"What do you mean with that?" Ginny asked, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest; all signs that she was ready to jump on his older brothers and start a fight.

"That you aren't the damsel in distress type – and they are right, you could knock any of us out if you wanted," Harry told her, placing a hand on her shoulder; he was probably the only one that could make her anger evaporate like that, along with Luna – but Luna was able to make everyone's anger evaporate, so she didn't really count. "That's why I'd never pick a fight against you."

"And the fact that you have fancied her for years is just a secondary reason, right?" Ron scoffed, securely wrapping his arm around me as we all headed to the shed, laughing and teasing each other on our way to the end of the yard, where stood the shed – basically, a small square building made of the same large, dark stones of the house, with moss-covered slate tiles, a small window with a stained glass and a thick wooden door with rusty hinges.

With a bit of pulling from all of us and a lot of complains from the old wood, the heavy door finally opened, and I looked around, curious – I had never seen the inside of the shed before.

It was surprisingly neat – there was very little dust, and only one cobweb in the farthest corner from the door; old wooden shelves placed along the farthest wall held several boxes that contained a bit of everything, from Christmas lights to candles and old picture albums; Aunt Elspeth's gardening tools found their place on a long counter that ran along the right wall, along with two pairs of old wellingtons and a large straw hat that I imagined she used when it was sunny; an old, rusty bike that looked like it had probably been new in the early forties was laid by the door. Folding chairs and tables were stacked neatly against the left wall, along with a tall ladder, and two large cardboard boxes labelled 'Decorations' were placed in the corner, looking like they were only waiting to be carried out.

"Come on, guys," I said with a small sigh, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. "It seems like we have a lot of work ahead of us."

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

"Harry, bring the last two chairs over there!" I called as I opened what seemed like the fiftieth chair – and it probably was.

"Huff!" George wheezed as he let down his end of the table and rubbed his shoulder.

"This was the last one," Fred commented, wiping invisible sweat off his brow. "Man, those things are heavy!"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered darkly as I absentmindedly rubbed my left arm; it was stinging a little, and it was sore – I wasn't used to use my arm again yet, and even not-so-big efforts could be painful those days. I could only imagine how difficult it must had been for Hermione, who had had to recover from injuries that were twenty times worse than mine; yet seeing her now, smiling and walking and running like any other girl, it seemed impossible that the accident had happened only six months before. How could she be so frail and strong at the same time?

"I'll go help Hermione with the decorations," I told Harry, who was sitting on one of the chairs with his arms linked behind his head and his glasses slightly askew. "Since your girlfriend has apparently decided to do nothing today."

"Remember that, beside my girlfriend, she also is your sister," he reminded me with a smirk, stretching in the sunlight like an overgrown cat.

"Whatever," I dismissed him with a shrug as I went.

Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the grass, chatting lightly as Hermione, perched on top of the ladder, hung a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner to the wall. She was standing as tall as she could, her arms and back stretched in the attempt to attach the thing to one of the ivy branches running all over the house front – without much success. I shook my head at my sister – it was unbelievable how lazy she could be sometimes – and I returned my gaze back to Hermione, who was now struggling, her fingers only an inch too far from the spot she had to reach.

I watched as she stood on her tiptoes even more, twisting her body to the side; one of her feet slipped half an inch from the ladder, and she suddenly found herself unbalanced, with nothing to hold onto.

Thanking all the keeper training that had made my reflexes so quick, I dashed across the small space separating me from the ladder and caught her before she could hit the ground, my arms tightening around her as she held onto me, her eyes wide and her hands fisted in my shirt.

"Th-thank you," she murmured shakily as I set her down; there was a spark of scared surprise in her dark eyes that made me want to pull her back into my arms and never let her go.

"Oh my – are you ok?" Ginny asked breathlessly as she ran to Hermione, grabbing her by the shoulders and checking on her with such apprehension for a moment I thought she had suddenly turned into our mother.

"That was impressive, little brother," Fred uttered, clapping my right shoulder.

"Yes, really; you have just gained a hundred points with your girl here," George added, clapping my left shoulder.

Seriously, how annoying could the two of them become?

"Nice move, mate," Harry only said as he joined us, reaching out to ruffle my already tousled hair – jeez, did he need to fuss with _my _hair too?

"I couldn't let her fall," I murmured, and it was true; it was a promise I had made to myself, never letting her fall again. There was no way I would have let that happen.

For that reason I refused to let her back on the ladder, and I took her place as she passed me the decorations – it was an easy job for me, as I was so much taller than her.

By the time we were finished it was almost late, so we hurried inside and then came back out carrying piles of paper cups and plates and brightly coloured tablecloths to lay the tables with; the work was left to us boys while the girls went back to the kitchen to carry what looked like an endless number of trays filled with sandwiches and cupcakes and biscuits of every kind.

I nonchalantly reached out to steal a biscuit from the tray Hermione was carrying, but she stepped aside quickly, dodging me.

"What do you exactly think you are doing, Ronald Weasley?" she asked me, the amusement in her voice evident despite her stern expression. The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to hide her smile, but she somehow managed to stay serious.

"Having a cookie?" I asked innocently, putting my best I'm-a-good-boy look on my face.

"_Stealing _a cookie, that's different," she corrected me, dropping her severe façade for a smug smile.

"Let's trade, then," I suggested with a smirk, snatching a chocolate chip cookie from the tray in her hands.

"This," I said, showing her my loot, "…for this," I murmured as I bent forward and brushed my lips on hers. It was a childish way to steal her a kiss, but her red cheeks and the soft look in her eyes were worth it.

"Stop being so lovey-dovey and help us with this mountain of food, would you mind?" Ginny huffed, carrying a tray of large cupcakes covered in pink icing.

"Sorry, Gin," Hermione said, blushing even deeper and helping her. "Here, let me take this – Ron, could you take the jugs of tea outside? I think Aunt Elspeth's got them ready."

"Yes, ma'am," I said playfully, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her hair before I went.

I could feel her gaze on my back the whole way to the house.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

It was as though the whole town had decided to pay us a visit that day: from four o'clock on, people kept streaming in our courtyard, wearing their best clothes and a smile and carrying presents. There were Emma's friends with their parents, Madam Rosmerta, who had closed her pub for the afternoon and decided to come, Florean Fortescue, Madam Malkin, the whole Weasley Family, the Potters, the Lovegoods, the Longbottoms – including Neville's Grandmother, a scary woman with an equally scary hat topped with a stuffed vulture; and then several of my classmates, along with their families, and, to my great shock, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick and Professor Dumbledore, all of whom, I discovered, were Aunt Elspeth's classmates and close friends.

Now I understood why the cake was so huge.

As time passed, the pile of gifts for Emma got taller and the food on the tables disappeared; everyone seemed to have a great time – grown-ups were talking and laughing, and children were running around playing and having fun; as for us 'older kids', as Mrs Weasley kept calling us, we organized two teams and set up a football match in the lawn. After a while I called myself out, short of breath but pretty satisfied – I had managed to score a goal, even if I suspected he had let the ball in on purpose.

I dropped down beside Luna, who was sitting by the edge of our improvised field picking daisies and intertwining them in crowns and necklaces – a thing that was totally Luna-like.

"You know, Ron was really kind letting you score," she commented without looking up as she carefully studied one of the flowers in her lap. I smiled; so she had noticed that Ron's slip had been intentional too.

"Yes, he really was," I agreed, smiling and tilting my face up to the sun; the warmth felt heavenly on my skin.

"Oh!" Luna suddenly exclaimed, looking up and staring at something at the other side of the courtyard. "I didn't know you had invited her, too!"

Her voice was slightly annoyed, a thing so unusual for her that I immediately followed her gaze – who could have it been, to annoy _Luna_? Maybe one of the Slytherins had sneaked in the party uninvited?

Instead of the unwanted classmates I was expecting, I saw jewelled spectacles, platinum blond (and clearly dyed) curls rigid with hairspray and an acid-green jacket-and-skirt suit.

What the heck was Rita Skeeter doing there, half-hidden behind the shed?

"Oh, no way!" I growled under my breath as I saw her pick a green pen and a notepad from her hideous crocodile handbag and start writing feverishly. "Excuse me, Luna – I have an annoying bug to shoo away!"

I jumped on my feet and marched straight to the hateful woman, feeling so angry I was expecting smoke to stream from my ears at any moment.

"Hadn't I been clear, when I told you that I didn't want to see you in our house ever again in November?" I asked rudely, making her jump. Good, I had caught her by surprise – she was so absorbed in writing God knew what about us that she hadn't even seen me.

"Don't you know that you can't address to grown-ups like that, you disrespectful little miss?" she asked me coldly, clicking her tongue in a disapproving manner.

"I treat with respect only those who deserve it," I replied stiffly, crossing my arms over my chest – I didn't care I was being totally impolite, I wanted that woman away from my sight _immediately_.

"You are so arrogant – exactly like your father was. You think you can walk over anything and anyone, don't you?"

"Shut up," I warned her, trying to keep my voice calm. "Shut your big fat mouth up about my father – you didn't know him, you don't know what you are talking about -"

"Oh, I don't know what I am talking about? Here's the news, my dear – he was nothing but a liar! Coming here during summer, playing cool Captain America with his little gang of friends! And then he went away and never came back, forgetting about everyone he had left behind, breaking the promises he had made!"

I looked at her with wide eyes, and I felt like laughing as her words finally made sense to me. How could have I missed something so obvious?

"Breaking his promises…Oh, now I see how it is! He _dumped _you! I can't believe I didn't understand earlier! And you hate him so much because of that?"

"He was just a liar!" she repeated, gripping her pen so tightly her knuckles were white. "He flew back to America to go to college and forgot about me – me, whom he had known since childhood, whom was foolish enough to believe he would have actually came back! He left me for – for that American bitch he met, and – "

How dared she – saying those things about my father, about my _mother_ -

"Don't you dare talking like that about Hermione's mother!"

What…?

I turned sharply at the shrilly cry, and I saw Lavender standing maybe a foot behind me, her cheeks red with anger and her eyes shining as she glared at the woman in front of us.

"Don't you dare – how can you so easily say those things about such nice people? You are holding a grudge against a boy who dumped you when you were, how old, eighteen?, after more than twenty years… And you even come here and talk rubbish about him and his wife in front of their daughter, when they have died only half a year ago! Are you incredibly stupid or you just are a hateful hag? I'm disgusted – what kind of a person are you?"

It was a good thing that Skeeter was at a loss of words, because I was so shocked myself to hear Lavender defending me with such force – hadn't she spent the whole week hiding from me after we fought? – that I couldn't speak myself for a moment.

"You don't have any rights to insult my parents," I finally said as I found my voice again. "If you don't have any respect for the living, at least have some respect for the dead. Now, I will tell you again what I told you four months ago – don't ever come near me or my family again. I don't care what you think, if you hate me, or my father, or the whole world – just stay away from us."

A malevolent glint flashed in her eyes, and I felt my face go even more serious.

"And don't you dare to write anything about this story – if I see anything I don't like in that rubbish you direct, I'll go straight to the police and denounce you. The police chief is a really good friend of my Aunt, did you know that? I bet he would be very eager in helping us if needed."

Apparently, she had gotten the message – the threat was more than clear in my words, there was no way she could have mistaken it.

She didn't say anything; she just huffed, her face splotched with red and her eyes filled with anger, and she stomped away, rudely shoving aside everyone she bumped into on her way to her car, a small, beetle-like thing of – no need to say – an ugly acid green (she really must have had a thing for that colour).

"I don't think she will bother you again; she isn't stupid enough to go against you, not after what you told her. I had never seen you so angry – you were scary, honestly! And the way you threatened her…awesome, really! Man, wasn't she hateful…"

I turned and looked at Lavender again, feeling more than a little surprised – I was really starting to wonder whether she had multiple personality disorders: how could she avoid me like I was a leper one day and come to defend me like that the other?

It took her a few moments to realize that I was staring at her like I had just seen a ghost, and she looked down, blushing.

"Erm…I was actually looking for you," she said sheepishly, scratching the side of her nose. "I – I wanted to…"

She sighed, rubbing her nose again, and looked back up at me – I noticed that she wasn't wearing any makeup, an unusual thing for her, and at a second look her eyes looked red and a little puffy, like she had been crying. Despite everything that had happened, I felt the instinct to hug her and ask her what was wrong, to the point that I had to cross my arms over my chest and grip my elbows tightly to prevent myself from doing so.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," she murmured, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie – a nervous habit of hers I knew well. "I – I don't know what I was thinking. I was so happy to finally be able to spend some time with you, and then – I saw all those people coming to visit you, and – I felt like I was nothing compared to them. Like I didn't count anything anymore. I mean, you live in an amazing place, and you have a boyfriend any girl would kill for, and a whole bunch of funny, brilliant friends who love you a lot…You didn't need me anymore, and – it hurt. But I was so angry at myself, for not being there to support you like I had always done, that I started to act like – well, like an actual bitch, I admit that. Jeez, I was so jealous…I talked rubbish about them only because I wanted to find every flaw they had, because I know that I'm far, far away from perfect, and I absolutely wanted to believe that they weren't, either. It was so stupid – I was so stupid. And I know that you now probably hate me, but at least I wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

She was crying now, and I felt my heart squeeze – so, that was why she had acted in such a hateful way. She thought that I had replaced her with my new friends, and I couldn't blame her: seeing everything from her point of view, things looked exactly like that. I should have known better than that – she had always tended to react badly to that kind of things, getting angry and being moody and insufferable about anything to the point she actually became impossible to stand.

And now, as she sniffled quietly in front of me, her eyes fixed on her shoes, I couldn't help but feeling guilty – maybe, if I had been patient enough with her and tried to talk, we wouldn't have ended up like that. But she kept complaining about how Ron and the others kept stealing me away from her all the time, and I was so angry for not being able to be both with her and my friends that I didn't even see that she was feeling bad about it. As much as I hated to admit that, it was my fault too – even if not as much as hers.

"You are right, it was stupid," I muttered, swallowing to get rid of the lump in my throat. "And childish, and unreasonable, and you should have told me everything instead of acting like that. But, best friends are supposed to forgive you when you make mistakes, no matter how big they are, right?"

She looked up at me with wide eyes, and for a moment she looked so much like her eight-year-old self that I actually had the impression time had gone back.

"Even if you messed things up so much they look like they can't be put back together again?" she asked tentatively, her voice cracking a bit.

"Especially in that case," I assured her, feeling the corners of my lips turn up in a small smile. I didn't know whether I was being too forgiving, but I didn't care; I knew that if I let her go back the next day.

She smiled at me, and she hugged me tightly – a thing that gave me the impression of being wrapped in a huge-shocking-pink-hoodie-and-lots-of-hair sandwich; it didn't bother me, though.

We ended up sitting on the grass with our backs against the shed, looking at the football match still going on at the other end of the courtyard.

"You know, time actually passed quite fast," Lavender said after a while; her eyes were still red, but she was smiling now. "I can't believe it's been five months since you left Seattle – it seems like yesterday, yet a lifetime ago. It's strange."

"Yes," I agreed, looking up at some fluffy clouds travelling lazily in the sky – it would have probably rained that night, but the party would have gotten to an end drily. "Time really is strange sometimes."

"But everything will soon go back to normal, right?" she asked me, stretching her arms above her head. "I mean, in, how long?, three months and a half you will be eighteen, and you will come back to America – I'm really looking forward to being just across the street from you again. And besides, you have already been accepted in university last year, and you already have arranged everything with the Headmistress of our school to take your exams in August and graduate late…"

Her words hit me like a thunder, shaking me from the inside – I hadn't thought about it once since I arrived in Ottery St Catchpole. About university, and America and…

Leaving.

L

E

A

V

I

N

G

Leaving.

I hugged my knees tightly to my chest – it felt like a hollow had suddenly appeared right where my heart beat, and it was sucking away the happiness I had felt only moments before like a black hole. Leaving England meant leaving Aunt Elspeth, and Hogwarts, and my home, and my friends, and my whole life.

It meant leaving Ron.

A way too familiar pain found its way through my body – a pain that I hated and feared like nothing in the world and that I had felt only once before, the night my parents died. I wasn't ready to face it again – maybe I would have never been ready to face it.

What a coward I was.

I had known it all along – known that it was just for a year, that nothing that I could have built there would have lasted more than nine brief months – yet I hadn't been able to help it: I had put together the pieces of my life, finding a place where to stand, not alone, but with a new family I would have never even dreamed of, only to see it shatter all over again.

I wasn't sure I would have been able to stand losing everything a second time.

"Right," I murmured, each of the words leaving my mouth heaving as huge boulders on my heart. "Three months will go fast."

Was it just my impression, or I heard a small gasp as I spoke?

When I turned, though, there was no one but Lavender with me.

* * *

><p>I was glad when Aunt Elspeth called us, a little while later – in that moment I needed a distraction like I needed air. It was starting to become dark, and it was time for Emma to open her gifts, a thing that would have taken her a very long time since there were dozens of boxes piled up by the huge cake that seemed to be waiting only to be eaten.<p>

"I'll go find Emma," I volunteered, trying to smile and hastily getting on my feet. "She probably is playing hide and seek with Tommy and her friends around the house."

"I'll help you," Lavender offered, still a bit sheepishly, standing and brushing dirt from her jeans. "I haven't seen my brother in hours, and God knows he and your sister could blow up the house if they worked together!"

"Em!" I called, looking around the courtyard – it wouldn't have been easy to spot her, with all those children around. "Emma, come on – time to open your presents! And the cake, too – don't you want to eat it?"

"I bet she is so absorbed in some game she can't even hear you," Lavender mused with a smile. "Come on – if we find my brother, we will find her too."

As we walked across the lawn, a little girl with short spiky hair and green eyes bumped into me, tripped and fell onto the grass. I smiled at little Alice's exuberance; even Emma was second to her when it came to vivacity.

"Sorry, Hermione," she apologized with a smile, jumping back on her feet and checking on her frilly dress – I had seen her enough around my sister to know that she had an insane love for clothes, even if she was only five. "Oh, pity – here comes Alexis, I've lost again."

A pale, round-faced girl with flaming red pigtails came running and touched Alice's back, screaming in delight: "Gotcha!"

"Hermione, when is Emma going to open my gift?" Alice asked eagerly, completely ignoring her friend's exultance and smiling widely. "My mom and I found the cutest dress ever for her, I bet she will love it!"

"Isn't she with you girls?" I asked as a few more of Emma's classmates came over running, looking for the two missing players in their game. "I was looking for her."

"I saw her run in the house a little while ago," Meredith, the dark-haired little girl who was the last member of Emma's closest group of friends said, pointing at the house. "She really was in a hurry; I called her to ask her if she wanted to play, but she didn't hear me."

"Bet she went to get a toy or something," Lavender muttered, shaking her head; I agreed with her, she probably wanted to show her new rabbit to her friends.

"We'll wait for her by the cake – I _so_ want to eat it!" Alexis said, bouncing up and down as she dragged her friends along; was I that lively when I was their age, too?

"She's right, the cake seems delicious," Lavender said as we headed towards the house. "Come on, let's hurry up – or those little monsters will eat all of it!"

"Emma, time to unwrap the presents! Your friends are waiting for you!" I called as I started to climb the stairs, and I almost collided with Tommy, who was dashing downstairs, his glasses askew and a stain of grass on the left knee of his jeans.

"Tommy, where did you and Emma go? We have looked for you all over the place!" Lavender scolded him, frowning slightly; Tommy, though, looked at her in surprise.

"Emma isn't with me," he said, his eyes wide behind his round glasses. "I was looking for her, actually – she said she was going to look for you, Hermione, and I haven't seen her ever since. It's been probably half an hour ago, more or less. I checked her room, but she's not there…"

"Come on, let's split up and find her," I said, feeling uneasy: where did she go?

"I'll go back outside and ask everyone," Lavender said, running downstairs.

"I'll check the shed and ask the other kids – she might be hiding somewhere for some reason," Tommy offered, dashing behind his sister and leaving me alone on the landing.

"Em, where the heck did you go?" I muttered as I entered my room, absentmindedly looking around. I noticed that her bunny, the one I had given her that morning, wasn't on the camping mattress she had slept in during those last few days anymore – she had probably taken it to show it to her friends, just as I thought. Next I checked the bathroom, and Aunt Elspeth's room, and then Emma's. She had left the closet open, how untidy she was…

I made the move to close it, but something inside caught my eye – it was messy, like someone had rummaged through it in a hurry to look for something. How come? I had personally placed my sister's clean laundry in there the day Lavender and I fought, and Emma usually didn't mess her clothes up, for she hated to have crinkles in them. I frowned, running my fingers over one of the warm hoodies piled on one of the shelves. The light blue one, the Gryffindor red one Aunt Elspeth gave her, the green one she had always hated…

Where was the pink one she always wore? I checked twice; it wasn't there. Yet I was sure it was in the pile of clean clothes I had given her, and she hadn't worn it that week…

Her jeans were missing, too – her favourite ones, light blue with flowered patches Mom sewed herself on the knees; her tennis shoes were nowhere to be found, either.

_What the…_

Had she taken them? Why? She was wearing a dress and ballet flats that day, what use could have they been to her?

Something pink balled up by the bed caught my eye, and I slowly picked it up, my heart beating fast all of a sudden.

It was the flowered dress she was wearing at the party, thrown there in a haste right on the matching shoes. She must have changed into other clothes, but why? She loved that dress, I knew that she felt comfortable in it…

Fear flooded in my heart like a wave of icy water, and I sprang to my feet, desperately searching for something else, something she could have taken…

Her stuffed Eeyore, the one she loved so much, seemed to have disappeared, too, and the duffel bag she used for the ballet class back in Seattle. The picture she kept on her bedside table, the one of both of us and our parents that was taken only two weeks before the accident, was nowhere to be found, either.

I had thought it right.

She was gone.

* * *

><p>I ran downstairs, feeling like I was about to throw up; I was hyperventilating, and my hands were shaking so much I had to ball them up into fists to keep them still.<p>

"Aunt!" I screamed, dashing towards where Aunt Elspeth was sitting and chatting with Professor McGonagall, totally unaware of what had happened.

She turned immediately as she heard me, her eyes wide and her face worried – the hysterical tone of my voice must have alarmed her already.

"Aunt, she's gone!" I sobbed as tears poured down my face. "Emma's gone! I can't find her, and her bag isn't in her room anymore!"

That gasp I heard when I was talking with Lavender – it must have been Emma, who had come looking for me. How could have I been so stupid? She had overheard what we were saying, and she had probably decided that running away would have been better than having to leave in summer! It was my fault, only my fault…

"Gone?" Aunt Elspeth murmured, looking shocked. "How – why?"

"What? The child is gone?" Madam Rosmerta, who was close by, asked, placing a hand on Aunt's shoulder.

"Little Emma has disappeared?"

"We must go looking for her immediately!"

"We should start right now," Professor Dumbledore said quietly, exchanging a worried look with Professor McGonagall. "Dusk's about to fall, and a rainstorm was foreseen tonight. I will lead a crew myself – come on, my friends, we have to find that little girl."

I stood there, feeling useless and frightened, as the adults quickly divided into groups and set off on foot in a dozen different directions.

"We'll go towards the town!"

"I'll check the hills to the East!"

"We'll go West!"

"Rookwood's farm isn't very far; I'll go and ask them, too!"

"The fields to the North, we must check there as well!"

"Come on, come on, hurry!"

I wasn't even considered; I just stood there, watching in a daze the mayhem around me. They knew exactly what to do, while I didn't – a thing that made me even angrier with myself: _I _should have been the one leading the operations, _I _should have been the one who knew where she might have gone. Instead, I was useless. I could just look, my whole body frozen in shock.

"What happened?"

I turned to see Ron, Harry and the others come back from their football match, all of them totally unaware of what had just happened.

"Emma's missing," Mrs Weasley explained, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders. "She ran away all of a sudden – we are going to look for her. You kids stay here: if she comes back, there will be someone to wait for her."

And then she took off too, joining Mr Weasley and Xenophilius Lovegood in the last group.

I squeezed my eyes shut; that couldn't be real. It must have been just a horrible nightmare; I had probably fallen asleep on the lawn as I watched the football match with Luna…

I buried my face in my hands as sobs ripped out of my chest; I was shaking all over, and I couldn't stop. Finally I could move, but as the haze of shock faded away, the pain and fear intensified of a million times.

Why, why, why? What had I done, to make God hate me so much? I had already lost my parents; I couldn't lose Emma, too. Without her, the best part of me didn't exist – it couldn't exist. Why did she have to run away like that? My baby, my baby…

Strong arms wrapped around me, and I desperately clung to Ron, fearing that I would have shattered without him holding me together; I had never felt so frail, so close to lose control.

"We are going to find her," he said forcefully, lifting my face to look at me in the eye. "We won't just sit here and wait while the grown-ups do all the work. No one knows these hills and the town like us; we will find her."

"I don't know what to do," I murmured, trying to stop shaking so much. "I – I can't think straight."

"So I'll do it for both of us," he replied, his eyes smouldering. "Dean, Seamus, you go downtown and alert the police – the more we are, the more possibilities we have. Everyone else, split up into groups and check every field, every hill, every bloody rabbit hole you can find around here. Knock to every door and ask everyone you see. Ask the neighbours to look in their sheds and barns, those are the best hiding places. We'll turn the town and the countryside upside down if necessary."

"What about us?" Lavender asked, looking almost as scared as me; Tommy was by her side, along with all of Emma's little friends, whose parents had left in our care as they joined the searching.

"You stay here and take care of the children. Should Emma come back, call me immediately – I have my mobile with me. Got it?" I told her, finding my voice back and straightening my shoulders. I couldn't let go – Emma needed me. It was just my fault if she ran away; it was my duty to do all I could to get her back.

It took only a minute for the groups to form, and then everyone ran off, both on foot or on their bikes. I took my usual place behind Ron, holding onto him tightly as he sped towards the town in the quickly dimming light; a chilly wind had started to blow on the hills, and dark clouds were gathering in the sky, threatening a rainstorm.

_Not now, not now, not now, _I pleaded the sky as we took a sharp turn for the main street. _Not the rain, not now, please. Just let me find her first. Let me find her…_

* * *

><p>We checked every street and every alley, calling for Emma on top of our lungs, and we asked in every open shop we found and to every passer-by we met; many of them joined us as we explained the situation, but it was of no use. Several times we crossed paths with someone from the grown-ups searching groups, but no one could give us news – it was as though Emma had disappeared, like smoke in the wind.<p>

We called for hours, back and forth, until our throats were raw and sore, until we all were freezing in the cold wind, too tired to keep going on anymore. At nine o'clock, over a hundred people were gathered in The Three Broomsticks, trying to warm up a bit as they tried to come up with a plan, suggesting new places where to look. Madam Rosmerta made tea for everyone; everyone accepted it, but only a few actually drank from the cups.

I just sat in the corner, feeling numb and cold despite the flames crackling in the fireplace next to me and the warm cup of tea in my hands; I could feel the glances everyone kept throwing at me, some pitiful, some worried, some sad, and others only plainly curious. I wasn't surprised: despite everything that had happened, we were still foreigners here, newcomers whose arrival was still object of conversation among many. To their eyes, what could have I been? The poor orphan American girl, who had lost her parents in a terrible accident and whose sister had now ran away…

We kids had gathered there too, but the results of our search had been the same as the adults': my sister was nowhere to be found.

"Where could she be? She's a little girl, she couldn't have gone so far!" Harry exclaimed at some point, running a hand through his hair and groaning in frustration. "There must be somewhere else, somewhere we hadn't looked yet…"

I couldn't stand the looks of commiserations coming from the adults; I needed to get away from there. Pity didn't help finding Emma – it was for the dead, or for who had lost hope, and I certainly didn't belong to either of those categories.

I got up without looking at anyone, moving just for the sake of doing something; if no one was coming, I would have gone alone.

"Where are you going?" Ginny, who had been sitting next to me, asked, gripping my sleeve to stop me. I shrugged; I didn't know.

"Anywhere is better than just sitting here. I have to find her, Ginny: it's cold, and it's going to rain soon…"

In the very moment I pronounced those words, a thunder echoed outside, and I took it as a sign: I slipped from Ginny's grasp and pushed the heavy door open, walking out. It was pitch-dark, the light coming from the streetlamps barely enough to allow me to see where I was going; the wind, from cold that it was, had become freezing, every sign of the warm, sunny spring weather of the afternoon gone.

I shivered, tucking my hands in the pockets of my jacket, and I started to walk down the street, looking for anything that could tell me that Emma had been there, that she was close…

Another thunder roared in the air, closer than the previous, and for a moment the sky was lit like it was daytime. I could see everything clearly: the houses and shops on both sides of the street, the heavy black clouds above my head, the dark house on the hill…

The house on the hill.

It was the one I had noticed on my first trip around the town with Ron and Harry – old Riddle's house. I vaguely remembered what they had told me – that no one usually went up there, because the old man was a weirdo, saying that he was a wizard and all.

"If no one ever goes there…It would be the perfect place to hide if you don't want anyone to find you…" I murmured to myself as everything around me became dark again. I would have gone there if I needed to get away from anyone else. And I knew that Emma would have thought the same thing.

"Where are you going?"

I heard voices calling me from behind, along with the sound of many footsteps, and as I turned I saw seven dark silhouettes running towards me, their jackets and scarves flapping behind them in the wind.

"A rainstorm is coming, it's not safe to go around on your own!" Ginny scolded me, grabbing my arm as though to keep me grounded.

"Therefore, we are coming with you," one of the Twins said; I wasn't sure if it was Fred or George, it was too dark.

"On top of the hill, the old weirdo's house," I told them, shouting to be heard above the whistling wind and pointing in that direction. "I know how she thinks – she would go hide in a place where no one would look for her! That house scares children, and grown-ups never go up there – I bet no one has even thought about it!"

"The kid's brave, she surely has the gut to go there," Ron said, pulling the sleeves of his jacket over his hands to keep himself warm. "Come on, if we are quick we might get to the top of the hill before it starts raining!"

So, we headed towards the place, walking fast and keeping our heads low to fight against the wind; I didn't think I had ever seen such a violent rainstorm before – and I had lived in Washington State for my whole life!

Climbing up the hillside, though, was harder than we thought: it was incredibly steep, and with the wind pushing us back, we made three steps forward and two steps backwards. But we were Gryffindors – working together was what we did best. So Neville helped Luna up, the Twins kept Ginny between them so that they prevented her from falling, and Ron and Harry took both my hands and helped me get back on my feet when the muscles of my legs, tired and sore after hours spent walking, betrayed me and made me fall down.

When we finally got on top of the hill, I felt like I had just run a marathon – but I had made it, so I didn't care.

Seen from this perspective, old Riddle's house was even darker and scarier than it seemed from the town: it reminded me of those haunted house things in amusement parks – and, to be honest, it gave me the chills. The walls of dark stone looked black; the windows were broken and dark like empty eye sockets, and the air around there had the stale, rotting stench of abandon.

"There!" I said, pointing at a missing board in the tall fence that surrounded the house. The narrow passage was just large enough for a dog – or for a small child.

"How the heck are we going to get to the other side?" Ginny asked, placing her hand flat against the old weathered wood.

I set my jaw and marched forward, to where the small passage was; then I took hold of the board next to the missing one and pulled with all my might. Just as I had thought, it was frail – the piece of wood came away easily in my hands, like it was attached to the rest of the fence with sellotape.

I crawled in the enlarged passage without difficulty – I wasn't much bigger than a child myself, after all – and I found myself in an abandoned garden; the grass was so tall it came up to my waist, and there were bramble bushes crawling up the fence and the front of the house. It looked like it had been uninhabited for years.

"Emma!" I called as I stood – I could hear the others work to make the passage big enough for them to pass, too. "Emma!"

Another thunder exploded in the sky, and I heard a whimper somewhere to my right – I couldn't exactly tell where it was coming from, though.

"Emma?" I called again, hope rising in my chest with such force it was actually painful. I carefully walked around the side of the house, throwing furtive looks at the stained glass of the few still intact windows to be sure old Riddle wasn't watching me from the inside – I had the feeling that the man would have been just as creepy as the house, if not more.

There was someone talking, a faint, small voice that sounded terribly scared.

"It's just a storm, you don't have to be afraid. Thunders can't hurt you. Just close your eyes and stay close to me…"

Another thunder shook the sky, and another whimper echoed in the air – a sound that was so scared and miserable it made me want to cry. Emma had always been scared of thunderstorms; they were the only things she actually feared…

A lightning bolt lit everything up again, and then I saw her.

She was curled up in the grass with her back to the fence, holding her Eeyore and the bunny I gave her that morning in her arms as she murmured comforting words to them – her way to muster up courage in those situations. She was wearing the clothes I had noticed were missing; they were stained with dirt in some places, making me think that she fell more than once, probably as she climbed up the hill. She looked incredibly small and frail, and I cursed myself a thousand times for letting her run away like that.

"Emma!"

She looked up at me with wide eyes, and I saw that there were traces of fresh tears on her face.

"Emma, thanking God you are ok!"

Tears stung in my eyes as I reached for her; she was ok, I had found her, and now she would have been safe…

But as I tried to hug her, she crawled away – away from me.

"No!" she cried, shaking her head. "No! If I go back, that means that I have to leave again! I don't want to! I don't want to!"

"Emma, I – "

"No, no, no! Please, Mione! This is our home! We can't leave! What about Aunt Elspeth? What about my friends? Don't you want to stay, too? You told me that you didn't miss America! You told me that you liked living here!"

"I do!" I almost cried as I fell on my knees beside her. "I do, Emma! I did when I told you, and I do now! But – we have to go back! You have already been enrolled in elementary school there, and I have to start University in September…"

She let me gather her in my arms and hold her close; I didn't know what hurt the most, seeing her try to get away from me or knowing that she was telling the truth.

She was crying hard, and I couldn't do anything but hold her close and rock her back and forth.

"Don't wanna…" she repeated again and again as she sobbed softly; I wanted to tell her that it was ok, that we would have stayed, but I couldn't.

"I'm sorry, honey," I murmured, stroking her frizzy hair. "I'm so sorry…"

Rain started to pour on us, small droplets at first, that soon became thicker and heavier; I didn't know how long it had been when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"You two are going to get soaked if you stay here," Luna murmured gently, giving me a kind yet sad smile. I didn't know how much they had heard of my conversation with Emma – probably everything, judging from the sad looks on their faces. I didn't want to know.

I lifted Emma up in my arms while Luna picked up the small bag Emma had brought with her, and we all began to make our way down, now made more difficult than before since the ground was wet and slippery with mud. Nobody talked much, and I could feel the weight of that silence on my shoulders. We had found Emma, and she was ok; this was supposed to be a happy comeback: the boys should have laughed, and we girls should have cried a bit, and we should have welcomed the rainstorm with a smile – instead, it felt like we were taking part in a funeral march to the cemetery.

I had to put Emma down, for I wouldn't have been able to carry her as we descended down the hill, but I firmly held her hand in mine; my heart squeezed when I saw that she was still weeping. I hated myself for making her that sad.

When we eventually got back to The Three Broomsticks, we were all wet and muddy, but luckily it still hadn't begun to rain heavily. Ron pushed the door open and we all slipped in one after the other; it was warm and dry inside, and it felt heavenly after the freezing rain outside.

For a moment everyone stared at us in astonishment; then someone seemed to register that Emma was with us, and the cheering begun: people got up all at once, patting our shoulders, laughing, clapping; Aunt Elspeth seemed overwhelmed with happiness.

Yet that bubble of relief and joy didn't touch any of us; we faked smiles and told what had happened, but I felt detached from it all, like I wasn't living my life, but only acting in a play.

"Oh, you are all wet – come on, let's get home now; you both need dry clothes and a cup of tea," Aunt Elspeth said quickly as she double checked on Emma and me, hugging us both like an apprehensive mother hen before she ushered us out.

Her car was parked right in front of the pub, and she opened the door for Emma to climb in – she was probably afraid that she would have ran away again, and I couldn't blame her. I made the move to climb in after her, but a gentle hand took hold of my wrist, stopping me for a moment.

"Hey," Ron murmured as I turned; I had never seen him look so sad before. "Come here."

His open arms were too much of a temptation to resist.

I hugged him tightly for a moment as rain drenched us both, and he pressed his face to my hair, holding me close; then he let me go with a small smile.

"I'll drop by tomorrow, ok?"

I simply nodded – I was sure that if I spoke in that moment, my voice would have broken. Then I climbed in and closed the door, curling up on the backseat and pulling Emma close once again.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

I watched, unmoving, as the small black car slowly disappeared down the road; I couldn't tear my eyes from it. There was a hollow in my chest, and it hurt like I had just been stabbed.

They had to leave again. Of course they would – everyone knew in this bloody town that they would have stayed only for a year, and then went back to America. _I_ had known since the beginning. But it hadn't kept me from getting involved, and now I felt like something was being ripped away from my chest. I had been stupid enough to think that things might have changed, that she might have stayed longer – but I had just deluded myself. This wasn't her home, after all.

My family was gathered by the door, waiting for me to come back in; I couldn't though.

"I'm going home," I said, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head in a vain attempt to stay dry; my hair was already drenched.

"It's pouring down in buckets," my mother complained softly; she didn't try to stop me, though – a thing I was grateful for. Right now, I needed to be alone.

"It's not a long way home; I'll change in dry clothes once I'm there," I reassured here as I took my bike, which was laid against the wall. "See you later."

I started to pedal with force, going as fast as I could as I took a shortcut across a field; I was completely soaked, but I didn't care. There was something burning inside me that would have eaten me from the inside if I stopped moving.

By the time I got home, I was shivering uncontrollably; I left the bike in the shed and ran inside, my shoes making sloshing sounds as I stepped in the hall. I hung my dripping jacket to the hook and ran upstairs to my attic room, grabbing a towel from the bathroom on my way; I was freezing. I threw the soaked clothes in the corner and grabbed a pair of dry sweats and a t-shirt from the closet; much better.

I dropped down on the bed with the towel in my hands and I started to dry my hair forcefully; there was pressure in my chest and in my throat, and I pushed it all back.

"Why?" I yelled at the empty house, angrily throwing the towel against the wall. "WHY? Why ain't I enough to keep her here?"

I slumped down again, burying my face in my hands.

I knew it wasn't her fault, of course. I had heard what she had said to Emma, seen the tears in her eyes as she spoke: she _didn't _want to leave. But she had, because it was what she was supposed to do; the child would have started school, and she would have gone to college…

And I would have stayed right here, and watched as she turned eighteen and then left forever.

Maybe I wasn't enough to keep her here – but I would have made sure those last three months in England were the happiest of her life.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

"Here, honey – drink this," I murmured as I sat down on the mattress; Emma was sleeping in my bed again that night – it was the last night Lavender and Tommy stayed with us. They would have taken the coach for London the next morning, and gotten on a plane back to Seattle in the afternoon.

Emma sat up gingerly and took the cup of chamomile tea from me; she hadn't talked much since we got back, and I couldn't blame myself. I didn't feel like talking, either.

After a hot bath and a small dinner, I had helped her in her pyjamas and tended the cuts and scratches she had on her hands and knees before putting her to bed; now, all wrapped up in fluffy blankets and with her peluches tucked safely at her side, she looked almost like nothing had happened. Almost.

"You have to sleep now, ok?" I said, stroking her hair. "Tomorrow you'll have to open your gifts – there are so many you probably won't be able to unwrap them all if you aren't well-rested."

She simply nodded, looking down at the cup and drinking all of its contents before she curled up on her side and hugged her stuffed animals tightly. The storm was still going on outside, but the thunders had been replaced by a pouting rain so thick I couldn't see anything from the windows.

I turned the light off and curled up by her side, keeping her close to me; it didn't take her long to fall asleep, and I sighed, rolling on my back and staring at the ceiling, sleep far away from me.

I didn't want to leave that place, ever. I wanted to attend my last year at Hogwarts and graduate with all of my Gryffindor mates; I wanted to go to college and then come back to teach – at Hogwarts, maybe, that would have been wonderful. I wanted to watch Emma getting sorted into Gryffindor as she grew up; I wanted her to have friends as amazing as mine.

I wanted to have my family, to bring my children up in that beautiful place where they could be free and happy.

But I couldn't. I couldn't, because I had to do what I was expected to. People expected me to go back to America, to go to college and become a professor in some important university. People expected me to be reasonable, to behave following rationality, not emotions. People expected me to do the best thing.

But how could have it been the best thing if it hurt that much?

* * *

><p><strong>So...liked it? Hated it? Let me know, and reviewreviewreview!<strong>

**Only two more chapters to go...check on Next Sunday, or the one after that!**


	18. Chapter 16

**I know, I am an awful, awful, awful person for having left the story hanging like this for...wait...51 weeks, exactly. And I am SO very sorry about it, guys. **

**I have no excuses, but, to be honest, in the last year I've had very little time to write anything but postcards and (*sigh*) a disgustingly high amount of essays. First I had to study like crazy to get the grades I needed to get into a British school, then I had to study like crazy to get the marks I needed in my exams, and by the time summer came, my family was moving to the UK and I had to pack, and move, and again unpack and settle down in the new house and city, which meant I barely had time to write a few lines every week. And now I'm back to studying like crazy because I need to get impossible marks in my A-levels if I want to get into Cambridge Uni.**

**Luckily, I'm on half-term break now, which meant I have - finally! - been able to finish this chapter, which I have been working on for almost a year. **

**To try and make it up to you, I've made this chapter extra-long; I warn you, it's going to be sad (lots of weeping) but I promise that, even if it doesn't seem so, the story will very soon have a happy ending.**

**What else can I say? Again, sorry for the epic delay, and enjoy the reading! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics of the song (sadly), which is All I have to Gibe by Backstreet Boys.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 16: Of Exams and Summer Afternoons, of Dreaded Birthdays and Goodbyes<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

The following day, Lavender and Tommy left right after breakfast, carrying along their suitcases and the bags with the lunch Aunt had made for them; we drove them to the town, and I had to admit I was a little sad as I watched them get on the coach to London.

"Call us when you get there!" I recommended as I waved at them from the sidewalk. "And be careful!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Lavender said with a mock salute, poking her head out of the window by her seat and waving back with a happy smile. After we had made up, she had finally gotten back to her usual self – pity we didn't actually get to spend much time together during the holidays. Hadn't she gotten in her dark-and-hateful mood for days, we could have had fun.

_It's no big deal: just a few months, and I'll have a lot of time to spend with her._

"Bye, Mione – I'll write you tonight once I have settled down! I'll miss you! Bye!"

The coach roared to life and began to move, and Lavender and Tommy kept waving at us until the big bus turned to the right and disappeared from our sight; then we all climbed back in Aunt Elspeth's small car and went back home, none of us talking much.

And then, life went back to its usual routine, almost as though nothing had ever happened.

School started again the following day, and we entered in the final part of the year – the one that would have ended with finals; our teachers doubled our usual amount of homework to prepare us to the incoming exams, and everyone in school started to spend almost every minute inside studying, as the days got longer and the sun shone brighter, promising an early summer that year.

After the night of the storm, I feared that things would have gotten awkward with the others; the following day, though, I noticed with relief that it was as though nothing had ever happened. Something, though, was slightly different: they now rarely left my side, visiting during weekends and volunteering for study groups with me in the afternoons, even when I knew way too well that none of them needed tutoring in any subject. And Ron…Ron was just himself, even if there was something in his eyes I had never seen before and that I couldn't name; I would be reading a book, or studying, or folding Emma's clean laundry, and when I turned to him I would see him staring into space with that expression I couldn't recognize. I would have given anything to know what his thoughts were in those moments, but whenever I asked him what was wrong, he would not answer or change subject quickly, so I was never able to find out.

And between homework, school and afternoons spent outside or at Florean's, the following months passed in a blur, and I suddenly found myself in July, only days to the end of term.

That day Professor McGonagall handed us our exams timetables, and I scanned mine quickly, copying it down to memorize it:

Monday:

– h 9-11, Trigonometry

Tuesday:

– h 9-11, theoretical Chemistry

– h 14-15, Latin

Wednesday:

– h 9-11, Botany

– h 14-16, English

Thursday:

– h 10-12, History

Friday:

– h 14 on, practical Chemistry

Neither of those subjects worried me – except maybe theoretical Chemistry, but who wouldn't have been worried about it?

"We'll have to give exams with Snape for two days…it really sucks," Ron muttered next to me, making me smile. "I hate finals – I always come out of them with abysmal grades in every subject!"

"No, this year you won't," I assured him under my breath whilst I copied the timetable down on my homework planner. "We have revised together for the last three weeks, there's no way you could fail any of these subjects."

"Except History, but I might fail it on purpose – and Zoology, too; those two are completely useless to me. I'm not smart the half of you, I wouldn't be able to take so many subjects at my A-levels next year."

"You underestimate yourself, as always," I said instead, sneaking a glance at him. "I bet you would be perfectly able to get good grades at you're A-levels in each and every of the subjects you have followed this year if you wanted."

"Trust me, I wouldn't. You'll see it next summer – you'll probably pass with five or six A+, while I'll scrap a handful of Bs and Cs if I'm lucky enough to – "

His voice trailed off as he realized what he had just said, and I felt my heart squeeze painfully at the sight of the sudden sadness in his eyes. Next year, I wouldn't have been here to see any A-levels results with him– I wouldn't have taken A-levels at all.

Until a few weeks ago, I would have never imagined that thoughts could hurt so much.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

I cursed myself again and again as the bell rang and everyone around us started to move, the sound of whispered conversations and chairs being moved filling the air; how could I be so stupid and say something like that without thinking? The moment I spoke her gaze fell down on her hands, causing her hair to fall on her face like a shiny chestnut curtain; it didn't keep me from seeing the sudden sadness and hurt in her eyes, though.

I couldn't bear seeing that look upon her face: it reminded me too much of how she was on the first day I met her, lost and hurt and broken almost beyond repair. She was wearing it more and more often those days, though. And other small things had changed as well, even if not everyone had noticed – she had lost weight again, enough for her uniform to hang loose on her already petite figure, and she had become silent, not acting all know-it-all-ish during our group study sessions or playfully telling Harry and I off when we played dirty at soccer anymore. I couldn't remember the last time I had really heard her laugh.

And it killed me to see her close up once again.

It was a Friday, and only the weekend separated us from our finals; I usually exhausted myself with last-minute study at this point (to make up for all the afternoons spent doing nothing when I should have been revising and avoid failing in every subject), but this time, thanks to Hermione's careful planning, I didn't need to, and I had way too much time to think about how close it was. Five weeks – only five weeks left before her birthday, which was only five days after Harry's. It felt like nothing – it _was _nothing.

Days seemed to slip through my fingers too fast, blurring past my eyes at such speed I could barely register them, and suddenly one more week had passed, and I was stepping out of Classroom 5 after my practical Chemistry exam. I messed up a little with my calculations, but somehow I managed to get the experiment right in the end, correcting it at the very last minute – Snape would have never given me full marks on it, but I had scraped a B, I was sure.

I was the last one, so I was alone in the corridor – the others were waiting for me outside in the park, enjoying the warm sun of July. I didn't feel much like joining them in that moment, though: I had dreaded that moment for weeks, and now that finals were over and we only had five more days of school left before the holidays I had suddenly realized that the time was almost up.

Four weeks. Four damned, awfully short weeks.

I sighed deeply, leaning my head back against the wall and loosening my tie a bit, thinking about how Hermione had fixed it right before I entered the classroom, so that Snape couldn't take points from me because it wasn't tied properly – a thing he had already done more than once in the past years.

Then, slowly, I made my way up the stairs that led out of the dungeons and along the now deserted corridor until I was outside, in the bright light.

They were sitting on the stone steps that led to the entrance – Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Hermione, all of them looking like lazy cats bathing in the summer warmth; apparently I wasn't the only one who had loosened up a bit after the exam, for they all had discarded their light sweaters and ties, throwing them unceremoniously in a messy pile along with their bags.

"Hey, you spent an awfully long time in there!" Neville greeted me as I sat down by Hermione's side; he was smiling lazily as he laid back against the low stone wall lining the staircase, Luna sitting next to him with her head on his shoulder.

"He's right, mate: we were starting to wonder whether it was the case to burst in to make sure Snape hadn't murdered you," Harry agreed, sitting up from the position he'd been lying in, with his bag behind his head like a makeshift pillow.

"So, how did it go?" Ginny asked, a smirk on her face as she addressed me whilst pulling her hair up in a ponytail; she knew way too well that I was likely to fail in practical Chemistry – the previous year she and the Twins had even put bets on my results. But this time I was sure I had done pretty well – for my standards, at least.

"I think I passed. When I showed him my work Snape looked like he had just swallowed a bucket of slugs, so I probably did good."

"You can take that 'probably' away," Hermione murmured as she hugged me, the happiest smile I had seen on her face in a while lighting her eyes up. "I knew you would have done good."

I pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her softly on the lips, ignoring the whistles and cat-calls coming from the rest of the group – the hypocrites, as if we had never caught them snogging in the corridors in between classes.

"You overestimate me, do you know that?" I asked her when we parted, smiling as a warm blush spread on her cheeks. She shook her head sheepishly, resting her hand on my chest.

"No, I don't; it's _you _who underestimate yourself."

"Ok, guys, I'm going to throw up," Ginny said, getting on her feet and picking her stuff up. "Stop being so lovey-dovey and get a move on – exams are over, it's a wonderful summer day and I _so _need to drop off to Florean's and have an ice cream."

"We're coming," I sighed, standing and gently helping Hermione up in the process, before swiftly stealing her books from her so that she didn't have to carry the weight.

"Give them back!" she protested, but I shook my head, smiling: I hadn't even bothered taking my bag with me that day, so my hands were completely free; it was no big deal.

"You're kidding, I hope! What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you carry such weight by yourself? I might get offended, you know," I told her, taking a step back as she placed her hands on her hips and started to tap her foot on the ground – signals that I'd have better been careful with her.

"You'd be a gentleman who lets girls carry their own books! Come on, Ron!"

I shook my head again, smirking; the others had already started down the hill, leaving us behind probably out of exasperation – or, knowing Ginny, hunger.

Hermione seemed to understand that she wasn't going anywhere with her angry-and-bossy act, so she quickly changed tactic, looking up at me from under her dark eyelashes and causing my stomach to twist into knots.

It should have been illegal to look at someone like that – it was deliberate coercion.

"Please, will you let me have my bag back?" she asked me, her fingers playing with the necklace I had given her in February; it seemed like a lifetime ago.

I felt my heart give a small tug: how long had it been, since we had actually played like that, or joked at all?

I couldn't exactly remember; weeks for sure.

"I'm sorry, but my Gentleman Code forbids me from doing that. I'm afraid you will have to let me carry your books all the way down to Florean's. So, if Milady agrees to be escorted downtown…"

And I offered her my arm, smiling – I knew my tricks, too, after all.

She rolled her eyes, but then accepted it, and I pulled her close as we started to walk down the hill, the others now far ahead of us.

"Isn't there something in that Gentleman Code that forbids you to piss girls off to death?" she asked, her tone stern; she was smiling, though, and clearly enjoying the joke. "Because, you know, I might have a point there."

"I'll check," I promised, chuckling and sneaking my arm around her waist.

"You'd better," she replied, leaning in my side. "Before I really become annoyed at you. You remember how Malfoy's nose was after I punched him, right?"

Of course I remembered – it was just so fun, watching him as he walked around the school with that huge bruise on his nose; I could never forget that image.

"God forbids you are angry with me," I told her, grinning and raising my free arm to the others, who had stopped midway down the hill to wait for us. "I could be reduced in such small pieces they would never find my body once your vengeance is complete."

"Oh, stop that," she complained, wrinkling her nose and swatting me lightly on my arm. "You know I would never hit you…unless you really, _really _deserved it."

"That's exactly what I was referring to."

"Hey, get a MOVE ON!" Harry yelled at that point, pointing dramatically at Ginny, who had started to walk again, dragging him along in the process – she could be incredibly strong when she wanted, but, he knew better than me. "Or she'll rip my arm from my body!"

Hermione smiled as we exchanged an amused glance, and we started to walk faster to catch up with them, not wanting to drawn Ginny's exuberant annoyance on the two of us, too.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

Our last week of school blurred past in a moment – the teachers didn't even give us homework anymore, so all we had to do was to sit in class, not even bothering to listen to the lectures, and strolling lazily around in the afternoons. But as I walked through the massive entrance door of the castle, on that sunny, warm Friday morning, my heart was heavy with sadness.

That was the last day of school term, and my last day at Hogwarts. The last time I got to walk along the sunbathed corridors, to eat in the Great Hall with the rest of my house mates, the last time I got to see that triumph of red, blue, yellow and green uniforms surrounding me.

My last day as a Gryffindor.

I almost felt like crying as I walked to my locker and opened it, methodically emptying it and stuffing its contents into the bag I had on my shoulder; there were only a few books left, some pens and stuff and the two pictures I had taped on the inside of the metallic door – one of Emma and I playing in the snow on last Christmas Day, and one of my friends and I that had been taken in early March at the Burrow. We all were smiling widely as we squeezed together to fit in the picture: Ron was holding me tightly, his chin resting on top of my head as the others squashed us from the sides in a huge embrace.

I smiled, looking away as I felt tears starting to form in my eyes; I didn't want to cry, not there, in the middle of the crowded corridor. I gently placed the two pictures in a book and then closed the locker, letting my fingers trail over the golden numbers engraved in the metallic door.

_Goodbye_, I thought with a small sigh.

That day, I bid my goodbyes to many things: to my classrooms, to my professors, to the stone walls of the castle that felt almost like my home. To all the memories and happiness I had found in that place that was so out of the ordinary, yet filled of such magic I could feel it in the air. That magic that had allowed me to find a place where to stand, even if for such a short time.

When the lunch bell rang, I looked around the Botany greenhouse one last time before I walked out, heading to the Great Hall with Neville; I didn't feel much like eating in that moment, so I just sat down at my usual spot between Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table and let my gaze wander around.

Professor Dumbledore stood up from the teachers' table at some point, and the whole Hall grew quiet; for a moment I was confused, then I remembered: the House Cup! I had completely forgotten that it would have been assigned that day!

"So, another year has come to an end," he said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "It has been a full year for all of us – filled with joy for some, with sadness for others, but, more important than that, filled with life for all of us. I have seen many things happening in this castle since last autumn – I have seen my students grow up, I have seen them laugh, or, more often, complain about homework and tests."

Low chuckles lifted from the awaiting crowd of coloured uniforms gathered at the four tables, some of them born out of pure amusement, and others, instead, out of guilt.

"And now, the sun is shining brightly outside and I want nothing more than to enjoy this wonderful summer myself, just like each and every of you. So, I won't steal too much of your time. First of all, I thought that forcing you to stay inside the whole afternoon would have been a waste, so I decided to cancel all the lessons for the last three hours."

Cheers exploded around us, and I felt both relieved and sad – relieved, because I wouldn't have had to stand Snape for one more hour, and sad because I was hoping I could spend the free period Ron and I had in last hour walking in the grounds. I clapped my hands anyway, just like everyone around me.

"Second, once you walk out of the Hall you will find that your exams' results have been hung in the entrance."

Groans followed his words that time, and Dumbledore chuckled under his breath, smiling kindly.

"And third, and last, I am going to speak the results of this year's House Competition."

Once again, a silence filled with expectation filled the room, and I bit on my lip nervously, curiosity washing over me: I had completely lost count of the houses' situation during the last few weeks. I was pretty sure Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were far behind us, but Slytherin…

"In the fourth place…Hufflepuff, with three-hundred and sixty points!"

I applauded encouragingly along with the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws; poor Hufflepuffs had been in the last position for years, they deserved at least that.

"In the third place…Ravenclaw, with four-hundred and fifteen points!"

More polite applause followed Professor Dumbledore's words, and I fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of my light jumper; it was between us and Slytherin now.

"Come on, we can't lose to them…" Ron muttered under his breath; the air was so thick with anticipation it could have been cut with a knife.

"In the second place, with four-hundred and fifty points…"

Slytherins were sneering from the other side of the Hall, looking like they had already won. Oh, how I wanted to wipe that insolent smirk off of Malfoy's face…

Possibly hitting him.

Repeatedly.

_Come on, come on, come on…_

"Slytherin!"

I couldn't believe my ears as I heard that; silence fell on the Hall as everyone looked at the green and silver table where the Slytherins sat, their faces pale and stunned like each and every of them had just been hit in the head with a baseball bat.

Oh, they deserved that.

"I'm glad to announce that, for the seventh year in a row, Gryffindor is awarded with the House Cup!"

Yells suddenly exploded from our table as grey cardigans and red-and-gold ties flew around; we all jumped to our feet, cheering and laughing and clapping like mad.

"We did it! We won!" I yelled as Ron swept me up in his arms, twirling me around; I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, still smiling. I felt high, almost intoxicated with victory as other students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff came to congratulate us; Luna came to hug Neville, and several others joined in in our loud happiness. Our voices soared up towards the sky, echoing against the high ceiling of the Hall, and I was pretty sure they could hear us till downtown.

Professor Dumbledore spoke again, but we were creating such a mayhem that his deep voice was swallowed from the noise, to the point that I could barely make out his words.

"And with this I leave you! I bid you a good summer, and – "

Suddenly a loud rumble shook the whole castle, and we all shut up at once to look up, startled. What the hell was that? It couldn't be a thunder, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky…

"Oh, no, here it goes again," Ron groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe it, they have really done it! I thought they were only joking!"

I looked around, wondering who he was talking about; was someone missing?

And then I noticed that someone was so obviously _not there_ – the Twins, of course, who else? – just as Filch burst in the Hall, his eyes wide and his hateful cat hot on his heels; his long maroon coat – how could he wear it when it was so warm? – flapped behind him as he dashed between the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff tables, looking wild and flushed and even crazier than usual.

"Professor!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "Professor! They blew up the toilet on the second floor!"

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

That was just really, completely crazy!

"They actually _blew up a toilet_?" I asked Ron under my breath, widening my eyes.

He nodded with a heavy sigh, casting a dark glare towards the massive doors of the Hall.

"Oh, yes, they did," he said softly. "And I don't know why, but I suspect this isn't the only thing they have planned. I mean, it's Fred and George we are talking about – they have surely organized some incredible goodbye everyone will talk about for years."

"I bet you are right," I murmured as more small explosions followed – these, though, sounded like they were outside the castle.

"Hey, look!" a small first-year called, pointing at one of the tall windows that gave onto the grounds; we all looked up at once, and I felt a grin form on my lips.

Golden, red and silver sparks flew in the sky – the Twins had apparently started a firework show outside. Knowing them, the blown-up toilet pantomime had only been set up to the purpose of distracting Filch while they carried the fireworks to the grounds.

No one said anything, but a moment later we were all running out of the Hall at the same moment, pushing each other forward and streaming towards the exit.

I looked up as soon as I set foot out of the door, and I laughed at the sight of the colourful sprouts of sparks dancing in the air; Fred and George were lighting one firework after the other, cackling like mad, looking more than a little singed with their shirts and hair covered in soot.

I didn't want to know what they had done to reduce their clothes in that state.

It was incredibly warm outside, so I took my jumper off, as most of the school population had already done; that way, with no ties and jumpers showing which house we belonged to, the differences had for once been cancelled, at least on the outside.

It went on like that for several minutes, and when it eventually came to an end applause raised from the crowd – teachers included, to my surprise; the Twins bowed deeply, identical grins on their faces as they waved at everyone.

Show offs.

"So, thanks to Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley for the…_unexpected _surprise. We all enjoyed it very much," Dumbledore said, smiling knowingly at the two of them.

"Thank you, Professor!" they yelled, not looking embarrassed the littlest bit.

"But how – Professor – they need to be given detention – write to their families – expel them!" Filch stuttered beside the Headmaster, his eyes wide and his nostrils flared.

"Oh, my dear Argus, I'm afraid that's not possible," Professor Dumbledore said, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. "In fact, you see, these young men are already out of school now; the term has ended, they have graduated, and there's no way I can do anything. But, they didn't hurt anyone, did they? And, as for the little mess on the second floor, I think a bit of cleaning up will do. By now, after eight years, you are used to fixing up the young Weasleys'…pranks, aren't you?"

Filch didn't answer; he looked pale and flabbergasted, his mouth slightly agape. But he couldn't argue with the Headmaster, so he left quickly, fuming, dragging his horrible cat along.

It took a few more minutes for things to turn back to normal, and then students slowly started to make their way back inside to look at the results of their exams.

Our whole group stood on the stone steps that led to the entrance, looking doubtful and more than a little worried as people streamed in and out of the door, some satisfied, others miserable.

"Who's going in to check?" Neville asked nervously; he was the one with the lowest grades in the group, and he was afraid of having failed Trigonometry and Chemistry, his worst subjects.

"I'm not going," Ginny said immediately, blushing – she had told me she was sure she had failed History, and she probably didn't want to find out herself.

"Oh, yes, you are," I told her instead, taking a step forward. "We all are. It's just grades, right? Who cares!"

Ron gaped at me as I spoke, looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Hermione?" he asked, laughing; I shoved him away playfully, wrinkling my nose.

"Shut up, you. Come on, guys; if we stay on these steps a minute longer, we'll grow roots."

Finding our names on the boards wasn't easy, but we eventually managed to do so, and I let out a small cry of victory: I had scored 100% in all of my tests, even Chemistry! Actually, it was 120% in English and Latin because I had added some more things I had researched independently to my work, but that was just a detail.

"Safe," Ron said with a relieved sigh, pointing at his name, a few inches below mine. He had managed to do incredibly well – 80% in every subject, except for English, where he had gotten a 90. He had passed even History, which he wasn't sure about.

"Safe," Harry echoed with a grin. Neville had managed to pass in everything, and Luna too. Ginny, as predicted, had failed History, but that was no big deal – she would have dropped off that subject the following year anyway. And the Twins had passed their exams with full marks.

"We are all safe – we have to celebrate, folks! How about a nice trip to Florean's? And then we could make up a football match, we have nothing to do today!"

Ginny's idea was accepted unanimously, and we all followed her outside and down the hill.

While we walked, though, I kept turning my head to look back at the castle again and again, and when it eventually disappeared from view I felt a small, painful tug to my heart.

I knew that it was the beginning of the end.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

That afternoon we celebrated with huge ice creams and a big football match which involved everyone, even Hermione and Luna, who usually just refereed our games. But this wasn't an usual game.

We played for two good hours, and we eventually were so tired that we just dropped on the grass of the field, enjoying the sunlight and the light breeze like lazy housecats. We talked, we laughed, and by the time we decided to get back up it was half past six, and we were all late.

We didn't have bikes that day, so we walked home in a hurry, hastily parting ways as we dragged our bags away with us, waving at each other and according to meet up in that same spot the following afternoon.

Our summer holidays began that way.

We usually met in the early afternoon, for everyone slept late in the morning; then we'd go to Florean's to eat ice creams and do our homework under the colourful umbrellas outside the parlour, or walk around the town, or play football in the fields, or just sit somewhere and talk and laugh together. Then we'd systematically be late for dinner, so we'd hurry up to get home in time and then go out again right after, to play silly games like hide and seek, streetlight, or tag, like we were still eleven years old, or simply to lay back in a field and watch the stars after the sun had set, trying to make out images in the billions of diamonds scattered around the sky.

It would have felt heavenly hadn't I had a countdown hanging over my head. Now that school had ended time passed even faster: days quickly became weeks, and July swiftly came towards its end.

I started to spend more time alone with Hermione; we took the habit of going out for long walks in the afternoons rather than staying with the others, and we talked for hours about everything we hadn't talked about in the previous months, for we both knew that those were the last occasions to do so.

She told me of her parents, of her childhood in Seattle, of her old school there, and I told her of how I grew up in that small town, of the pranks Harry and I used to make when we were little, of our first years at Hogwarts. The things we had to say were so many, and the time we had was so, so little…

"Do you think you could teach me how to ride a bike?" she asked me one afternoon when we were sitting on top of a hill near her house. Her question surprised me – she hated bikes, I knew that – but I agreed; I was starting to doubt there was anything I would have denied her.

There was this old bike in her aunt's garden shed; it was rusty and it obviously hadn't seen the sun for at least a decade, but its wheels were ok, and the brakes still worked well.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mione?" I asked, noticing how doubtful she looked as she carefully got on the bike, keeping her feet firmly attached to the ground.

She nodded, and something shifted in her eyes; it was the same spark that appeared whenever she was in front of a difficult challenge, of determination, bravery and more than a little bit of stubbornness. It was impossible to convince her to change her mind when she got that look, I knew that.

I took hold of the parcel carrier behind her and repeated my instructions for the umpteenth time in a span of fifteen minutes.

"Ok, now you just have to pedal straight forward; I'll make sure you don't lose your balance."

She turned her head to smile at me, and I melted under her gaze like snow in full sunlight as my heart missed a beat before doubling its rhythm.

I would have never gotten used to how beautiful her eyes were.

"One…" she murmured, gripping the handlebars tightly.

"…two…" I echoed, adjusting my grip on the back of the bike.

"…Three."

I didn't know what I was expecting – if I thought she would have wobbled, or fallen, or lost her balance somehow – but she didn't do any of those things. She just pushed hard on the pedals and went straight for her goal, the other side of the field we were in; her jaw was set, her eyes were fixed on one spot, and her movement were sure as never before.

There was no need for me to hold her steady; she could do that on her own.

And I understood that while she was strong enough to keep her balance and go on, I wasn't; all that time I thought that I was helping her to stand, but it was actually _her _who helped me so that I wouldn't fall.

I wasn't sure I would have been able to get back on my feet on my own once she was gone.

It was another moment before I released the back of the bike and slowed my pace until I stopped, watching as she went on for a few yards before she carefully hit the brakes to stop and look back at me; her smile was radiant, pride and excitement in her dark eyes.

My sun, my sky, my everything.

I didn't know thoughts could make your heart hurt so much.

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

"Come on, Emma, we are going to be late for Harry's party!" I called from the stairs to my sister, who was still getting dressed.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon of the end of July, and almost the whole town would have celebrated Harry's eighteenth birthday in the Potter's garden; we should have been there in five minutes, which was impossible considering that he lived across the town and that it usually took fifteen minutes to get there. "She's right, honey, we really should get going!" Aunt Elspeth echoed from the kitchen, where she was sipping a mug of tea while she waited.

Just then the phone rang, and I walked quickly to the hall to pick it up, fuming about how much I hated to be late.

"Hello?" I said as I put the receiver to my ear, adjusting my white top in the meantime.

"Hello, is it the Granger household?" a female voice asked; it was slightly familiar, but I couldn't quite identify it.

"Yes, it is; who is speaking?"

"I'm Anne White, from the Social Department of Washington State. May I speak with Miss Hermione Granger?"

My heart fell as I heard the name, and I bit my lip with such force I almost drew blood; I knew I should have expected something like that. After all, it was only five days left to my eighteenth birthday.

"Hello, Anne; I'm sorry, I didn't recognize your voice," I said softly, feeling suddenly emptied of all emotions.

"Oh, Hermione! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you either; you have developed quite an accent, you really sound British!" she exclaimed; from her tone, it sounded like she was smiling.

"I just wanted you to know that I've already set everything for your return here: I've booked your tickets, the plane leaves next Monday at twelve o'clock from Heathrow Airport. I'll be there to pick you up in Seattle once you arrive; we'll have to discuss of your parents' will and..."

But I wasn't listening to her anymore.

Monday. I had a seat booked on a plane that left the following Monday.

It was just seven days.

I closed my eyes for a moment, my control slipping as I gripped the receiver with such force my knuckles turned white.

I waited for her to finish, barely breathing; how was it even possible, that she didn't know a storm was tearing me apart from the inside?

I felt like my heart was slowly shredding in a million pieces; I hoped the ground would have opened and swallowed me forever, for oblivion would have been easier to cope with than pain.

"Thank you, Anne; I'll see you on Monday. Now excuse me, I'm late for a friend's birthday party," I excused myself, trying not to sound completely hysterical or close to tears.

"Well, have fun then! Bye!" she wished kindly before she hung up.

"Yeah," I murmured in the now silent receiver. "Bye."

When Aunt Elspeth walked in the hall, a few minutes later, she found me still in the same position, phone in hand and eyes staring emptily at the wall in front of me.

"Dear, what's wrong?" she asked me, gently placing her hand over mine; it was warm, while mine was ice-cold. Emma came in after her, and she turned her big eyes to me, looking worried and, somehow, resigned, like she knew what had just happened.

"It was the social assistant," I said, my voice sounding weak and shaky to my own ears. "We are going back to America in one week."

* * *

><p>I started to pack the day after Anne called; placing all of my books and stuff in the cardboard boxes seemed more difficult than ever before, because while leaving in November meant abandoning only the shreds of my former life, coming back now meant leaving behind everything I had.<p>

And it hurt a thousand times more.

There was no sense in hiding the truth from the others, so I told them all that very same day, at the end of Harry's party; they didn't seem surprised, though, for they all knew that was coming. But I thought I would have had more time to plan everything, to plan how to say goodbye; it seemed like life always refused to give me that possibility, to give me time to say my goodbyes the way I wanted.

Emma spent all the time she could outside with her friends, while I stayed inside packing; everyone was there to help me, though – Ginny, Luna, Harry, Neville and the Twins, and sometimes even a few more friends from school.

And Ron, of course.

He was always there with me, but it now seemed like that time wasn't enough; I had been foolish, thinking that we would have had more time to spend together – in my mind, we would have had months, probably years.

But this was reality, and reality was always harsher than dreams and fairy tales.

* * *

><p>Ron's POV:<p>

That morning, when I woke up, the sun was shining brightly and the sky was of the most perfect blue I had ever seen, deep and cloudless.

It was the Day – the wonderful anniversary of the day she was born, and also the date that officially took her away from me; how ironic that was.

But I had sworn to myself that that day would have been something to remember for her; a happy memory, not a sad one.

Hermione's Aunt had organized a party for her in the evening, a lot like the one she had thrown for her little sister, only much bigger – almost the whole town would have been there to bid her goodbye that night. So I had organized something for the afternoon – and part of the morning as well. All of this was unknown to her, of course.

I showed up at her house at eleven o'clock that morning, and her surprise alone when she came to open the door repaid me for all the planning I had done during those last few days.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me as she hugged me tightly. "I wasn't waiting for you until four o'clock this afternoon!"

"Change of plans," I just said, smiling at the evident curiosity in her eyes. "We are going out today."

"I'll take my bag – where are we going?" she asked, motioning to step out of my arms; I held her tighter, though, effectively trapping her there.

"Birthday surprise," I told her with a smirk. "I'd suggest you hurry up, Miss Granger, as we have quite a long journey in front of us today."

"It will take only a moment," she promised me, standing on her tiptoes to lightly kiss me on the lips before she hurried back inside.

"Aunt, I'm going out! I'll see you this evening!" I heard her call before she dashed out again, her bag over her shoulder, and closed the door behind her.

I bent to kiss her again and I took her hand, lacing my fingers with hers as I led her to my bike.

"Ready?" I asked her as she climbed behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"As I will ever be," was her soft reply, which came slightly muffled by my shoulder.

So I pushed on the pedals and turned into the dusty road that headed South.

* * *

><p>Every year, in a nearby town a summer fair with dances, music and games was organized; I knew because my parents used to bring my siblings and me there when we were younger, and it was exactly there that I was headed, even though it wasn't exactly close – it was more than half an hour by bike, going fast.<p>

"Are you going to tell me where we are going?" she asked me when I finally came to a stop at the base of a hill. I had gotten there the long way, taking a small path that slithered through the countryside so that she couldn't see where we were heading from afar.

"You'll see in a minute," I told her, taking her hand again and pointing at the top of the hill. "We just have to get up there."

She seemed both doubtful and thrilled at the secrecy I was keeping on our destination, and she just followed me without saying anything, holding onto me so that she wouldn't trip as we climbed up the steep side of the hill.

When we finally reached the top, a large show of brightly coloured tents, booths and fun rides splayed below us, just a little away from the village ahead; the notes of a lively tune could be heard in the distance, along with the buzzing of mixing laughter and chat of the hundreds of people gathered there.

"What do you think?" I asked as I turned my head to look at Hermione, who had stopped just a step behind me. "They always organize this fair during the last week of July, and I thought that you might have liked it."

She smiled at me, lightly squeezing my hand.

"I absolutely _love _it," she said softly, as the warm wind gently blew her hair around her face; in the bright sunlight it looked almost golden, and my hands literally itched to touch it, to push the curls away from her eyes. I did it, and she blushed, leaning slightly in my touch as I stroked her cheek; I could have melted under her tender gaze.

"You know, I've never been at a fair before," she said thoughtfully as we started to make our way down the hill.

"I thought America was famous for organizing this kind of stuff," I replied, surprised; having been to so many carnivals during my childhood that thinking that other kids might have not done the same stuff was odd.

"They are very popular, indeed, but only in small towns; Seattle is too much of a big, busy city to organize something like this," she explained with a small shrug, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"Well, we have lots of things to do then – come on, I'll show you what a real small-town carnival is like."

It had probably been years since I'd had so much fun at a fair, really; I couldn't help myself, Hermione's curiosity made me feel like I was a kid again, which wasn't bad at all.

Right after we arrived a fortune teller stopped us and insisted on 'reading our future'; she was a gipsy woman in her late thirties, dressed in a bright yellow floor-length skirt, a wide-sleeved dark purple silken shirt and dozens of tingling bangles hanging around her thin wrists – she reminded me strongly of Professor Trelawney, minus the huge round glasses.

I kept my hands safely tucked in my pockets, watching as the woman followed the lines on Hermione's palm with the tip of her finger, her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied them intently.

"I see you have a very long life line – but…do you see this spot here?" she asked, pointing at something near Hermione's wrist. "There's a slight deviation; it means hurt, something bad happening to you. But it's happened already, judging from its position, ain't I right? And…why, your heart line is quite unusual – so deep, going up without any deviation…It's a good sign, for it means one great love – only one, but strong enough to last for a lifetime. You are one lucky girl, really – I have seen very few hands as auspicious as yours."

Hermione smiled nervously at her as she pulled her hand back.

"I really do hope you are right," she told the woman softly, sadness veiling her eyes for a moment as she spoke. It was gone too soon for me to ask her anything, though, and I didn't mention it as we walked among the stands, holding hands and soon forgetting about the gipsy's words.

We played several games, but we hardly had any luck – we were laughing and enjoying ourselves too much to actually put some effort in them. I had quite the aim at a shooting game, though, and I managed to win a cute ragdoll with woollen hair and black buttons for eyes – little Emma would have liked it, I was sure, as she already had showed her appreciation for the handmade sock-and-buttons puppets I had made for her when she was sick and Hermione and I still weren't going out. So much had happened since that day…yet it had only been six months, barely.

"Have you ever been on a ferry's wheel?" I asked Hermione after a while, pointing at the colourful wheel standing out above the stands around it, looking gigantic compared to them.

She shook her head, her fingers absentmindedly twirling the locket hung at her neck – the one I had given her.

"Actually, no," she said, biting her lip. "I'm not afraid of heights, but I'm no fan of them, either. You know how I am – I like to have my feet solidly planted on the ground." She paused for a moment. "I have always wanted to try, though," she admitted.

"Let's go, then," I told her, lacing our fingers together and gently pulling her with me towards the short queue in front of the wheel. "It's not that bad, I promise."

We sat together in the small cart, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her as the wheel began to move slowly, taking its time like everyone was doing on that lazy summer afternoon.

When our cart stopped at the top, gently rocking back and forth, I felt like nothing could have been more perfect – the fields bathed in light splaying below us for miles, punctuated here and there by small towns, the cloudless sky, the warmth of the sun on our skin; everything seemed flawless, like we had suddenly entered a painting.

"Ron…"

She kissed me then, her lips soft and tentative against mine; it was just us up there, too far from the ground for anyone to see or hear us.

I wanted to tell her how I felt – I had wanted to for months now, and I felt like I would have exploded if I didn't tell her those words.

"Hermione, I – "

I almost told her. _Almost_. But the wheel began to move again just as I started to speak, and the moment was gone.

"You know, I think I might even like ferry's wheels," Hermione uttered once we were on the ground again. "I usually am very touchy when I look down from high places – I make the Cowardly Lion look like Schwarzenegger sometimes. But this time, I really enjoyed it."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said softly, pulling her closer to me; it just felt so right, having her tucked in my side…

We walked around for a while, not really caring about what time it was; when the light changed, turning from bright gold to soft yellow , I checked my watch and saw that it was almost seven; the party would have started around eight, so we weren't really late, but we would have had to leave soon.

Just as I was about to reluctantly tell Hermione it was almost time to go, we passed by a large makeshift pavilion where a band was playing a popular song; they were actually good, and several couples were dancing in the cool shadow of the large tent.

I vaguely remembered something similar that I had seen when I was little, around five or six probably, during another carnival; I was walking around with my parents and a few of my siblings, and suddenly one of the dancing couples had caught my eye – they were young, probably around the age Hermione and I were now, and they looked like they were totally lost in themselves as they moved together across the dance floor.

At the time I had thought that there must have been something magical in the way they looked at each other, with such love and adoration.

It took only a moment to set my mind.

I took Hermione's hand and bowed deeply, sneaking a look at her to see what her reaction would have been; her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shining, her smile as dazzling as the late afternoon sun above us.

"May I have this dance?"

She nodded, her small fingers sliding through mine as she let me guide her to the makeshift dance floor; as we approached the song ended and the band started another one – a slow song this time.

I slid my arms around her waist and her hands found their way to my shoulders as we slowly swayed in time with the music; I knew that song, for it was one of Ginny's all-times favourites – one of those songs she usually listened to in loop a hundred times on her stereo until the whole family begged for her to choose something else. This one wasn't actually that bad, though.

I pulled Hermione closer, and she leaned her head on my shoulder; it felt so natural to hold her like that…

I rested my chin on her hair as we kept dancing, closing my eyes for a moment as the lyrics of the song floated around me; curious, I had heard that melody a thousand times, but I had never actually paid attention to the words.

_But my love is all __I have to give_

_Without you I don't t__hink I can live_

_I wish I could give t__he world to you_

_But love is all I have to give_

And suddenly I knew that it was the right time, that no other moment had ever felt that perfect, or would have ever been; that if I let that moment pass by without telling her I would have regretted it forever.

"I love you," I breathed, and no words had ever felt more right, more true. I loved her, with everything I had, with everything I was.

She looked up at me, her dark, beautiful eyes full of an emotion I couldn't quite recognize, and a single tear slowly rolled down her cheek; I wiped it away with my thumbs, my heart squeezing at the sight of her so vulnerable.

When she spoke, though, her voice didn't sound vulnerable at all; it was soft and low, quivering with the same intense emotion I could see in her gaze.

"I love you, too," she murmured, her fingertips brushing my cheek. "So much."

I felt like my heart was about to burst, or to fly right out of my chest, or both things, I didn't know.

I lowered my head and kissed her, my hands sliding in her messy hair to pull her closer; it was slow and gentle, but it was enough to take my breath away nonetheless.

We had stopped moving, and a few of the couples around us were probably staring, but I didn't care – in that moment it was just her and me, no one else.

When we finally parted, I felt like someone had hit me on the head with a baseball bat; I was dizzy and euphoric, like I was drunk on happiness.

It was the most wonderful sensation ever.

Neither of us said anything as we slowly walked away from the pavilion and back up the hill, our fingers intertwined; there was no need for words, not after what had just been said.

She climbed on the bike behind me, wrapping her arms tightly around my middle as always; it felt different this time, though.

"Say it again," I asked her softly before we left. I needed to hear it, to know that it hadn't just been something my mind had made up in the colourful, unreal atmosphere of the carnival.

She laid her head on my shoulder, and I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.

"I love you."

I smiled as my brain processed those three small words once again, and I pushed on the pedals, hurrying along the dusty road – we were really late now.

"Just wanted to make sure."

* * *

><p>As foreseen, we were late; when Hermione's house came into view the front yard was already full of people, all of our friends included.<p>

We cut across the field to avoid the crowd, going all the way around the house to the backyard, which was deserted; everyone would have asked too many questions if we just showed up there, together, almost an hour late, and neither of us wanted to explain where we had spent the day.

I left the bike against the tool shed as always, and we started to make our way to the back door, hand in hand; I stopped a few yards away from the house, though, for a reason I refused to admit – because joining the rest of our friends to the party would have broken the magic of that perfect day, bringing both of us back to reality. And I wasn't ready for that.

Hermione looked up at me, a question in her eyes, and I just kissed her, knowing way too well that I wouldn't have been able to tell her why I had stopped just outside the square of light of the kitchen window.

Then her arms were around my shoulders, and she was kissing me fiercely, her small body quivering in my arms despite the warmth of the summer evening; in that moment I knew that I wasn't the only one who thought that coming back home in that moment meant answering to a wake-up call we had tried to ignore for months.

We stayed there for several minutes, holding onto each other like the world depended on that, like staying there would have made the cardboard boxes disappear from her room, or stopped time for us only. It was only wishful thinking, though, and we both knew that; we could hear the laughs and talking coming from the other side of the house, and sooner or later someone would have walked around the yard and found us.

It wasn't until I tasted the salt on her lips that I realized she was crying, and I held her tighter, kissing her tears away and pushing her messy curls away from her face to look her in the eyes.

"It's ok," I murmured, nudging her nose with mine. "Everything is going to be ok, love."

She shook her head weakly, pain showing clearly in her doe-like eyes.

"It's not going to, Ron, and you know that," she whispered, her voice as fragile as her gaze. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, and God knows how I will ever be able to get on that plane!"

I held her tight, rocking her back and forth like a baby and burying my face in her hair.

"You are going to, because you are Super Hermione Granger, and you are strong and stubborn and just so wonderful that you could do anything, even getting on that plane, if it's what you have to do."

As much as it hurt saying those words, I knew that they were true – she would have been able to do it, because she was strong enough to handle it. She would have gotten back to America, where she belonged, and she would have become a great Professor in some prestigious University, or a world-wide famous writer, or a President, even – she would have grown up and moved on, and forgot about me.

As long as it meant that she would have been fine, though, it didn't matter how much I would have suffered.

"You overestimate me, Ronald," she said, a shaking bubble of laughter escaping her lips as she wiped her tears with her fingers.

That was the first time I had ever heard her say my full name in nine months.

"Mione, there you are! Everyone is looking for you!" cried little Emma as she came running into the back yard, a large swarm of little girls in party dresses tailing her; she didn't seem happy, though, her eyes controlled and serious, lacking the usual joy and liveliness.

"I'm coming, honey!" Hermione called to her with a small wave, probably trying to look cheerful. "You go back to play with your friends, I will be there in a minute!"

She kept a forced smile on her lips until her sister was gone, and then the sadness was back, burning in her eyes like cold fire. I hated to see her like that – it reminded me too much of how things were at the very beginning, when I first met her and she seemed to be broken beyond repair.

She wiped her eyes again, carefully, and then she took my hand, lacing her fingers with mine.

"Come on," she murmured, gently leading me around the house, where everyone was waiting. "It's time to show up."

* * *

><p>Hermione's POV:<p>

As I stepped into the yard, I couldn't help but admire how everything had been set up – Aunt Elspeth must have spent hours outside to decorate the place like that: dozens of lanterns were scattered around the lawn, the simple white candles burning in each of them casting a warm glow on the grass; a colourful HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY banner was hanging above a table where a huge three-layer cake, much more elaborate than the one I remembered from Emma's party, lay surrounded by piles of food and wrapped gifts, and someone must have brought a stereo along, because music was playing and some people, a few of my classmates included, were dancing.

I would have loved it hadn't my heart felt so heavy.

I barely had time to look at it all that the crowd of people surrounded me, congratulations and hugs raining on me from every direction, and somewhere in the middle of it my hand was pulled out of Ron's, making me feel suddenly too small and vulnerable, like I was struggling to stand again.

I turned to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found in the immediate surroundings, so I put my best effort at a smile on my face and slowly made my way through the dozens – or hundreds – of friends, classmates and simple acquaintances who had come to wish me a happy birthday and, in many cases, to bid me goodbye.

I knew would have actually missed some of them – from my teachers to Madam Rosmerta and Martha Malkin, who I had so often seen around the house as they visited for a chat and a cup of tea with my aunt, to Dean and Seamus, the Patil Twins and the Creevey brothers…they were too many to name them all, and it only made everything worse.

Once I was done I was crying again, and I felt utterly miserable, all the parting words echoing again and again in my head. If that was so difficult, I couldn't imagine how saying the other goodbyes, the most important ones, would have been. I _didn't want _to imagine it.

So I wrapped my arms around myself and looked around, trying to spot my friends; it wasn't hard to find them, for they were probably the only people sitting in that moment, a little away from the crowd and the music. I couldn't blame them – the happy mood of the party was hard for me to bear, too.

I took my time in walking to them, and I plopped down beside Ron; no one said anything, but there was no need for words: the sad smiles we exchanged were enough.

More tears threatened to overflow as I took them in, knowing perfectly well that that was probably the last time I would have been able to be with all of them at once, just sitting and enjoying their company like I had done a million times. And even if it was no different from all the other times, I cherished that moment, for it was something to treasure, just like the friendship that connected all of us.

I laid my head on Ron's shoulder and let my eyes wander around, lingering on each of my friends, memorizing every detail so that I could replay those images in my head later, when there would have been an Ocean in between me and them.

There was Luna, who was laying on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air as she gazed thoughtfully at the dusky sky above, and Neville, who was sitting beside her as he absentmindedly played with a strand of her long hair, and there were the Twins, sprawled on the grass in a mess of long limbs and tousled hair, Fred with his arms linked behind his head and George with his head resting on his brother's stomach – funny, how I had finally learned to tell them apart now that I was leaving. There was Ginny, curled up with her legs pulled to her chest, and Harry, who was sitting behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

We just stayed there for hours as the sky turned darker and darker, until the sun finally set and the first stars appeared, shining like tears of pure diamond on a drape of dark blue velvet. We got back to our feet only when Mrs Weasley and my aunt called us for the traditional cake cutting, and even then we stayed silent, nodding at each other like we were agreeing on leaving our small bubble of peace before we moved.

People crammed around me as I blew on the eighteen candles flickering on the cake, knowing perfectly well what to wish for as the small flames died.

_I wish I could stay here. I wish this evening could last forever._

And even if sadness was tearing my heart into pieces, I didn't regret deciding to come here to England. Even if I had the power of changing the past, I would have done it all over again, because those nine short months had been, without a doubt, the best, the happiest of my life.

Then came the presents, but my thoughts were far away from there as I opened them, to the point that I couldn't even remember what was in the boxes. It took an awfully long time to go through the whole procedure, and by the time I was finished people were starting to leave, stopping by for one last word, one last goodbye before they went.

Soon enough everyone was gone – everyone but the Weasleys, the Potters, the Lovegoods and the Longbottoms. While the grown-ups sat together chatting, the rest of my friends helped me to tidy everything up with the method given by practice: Luna blew all of the candles off and gathered the lanterns, Neville put all the plastic cups and plates in big black rubbish bags, the Twins put the folding tables and chairs back in the shed and Harry and Ron helped me to bring the remains of food back into the kitchen, and in half an hour we were done and sitting on the stairs that led to the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Luna said at some point, breaking the silence we had once again fallen in and taking something wrapped in maroon paper and tied with white string from her huge messenger bag. "Happy birthday."

I scowled at the rest of the group as I took the package; it was rather heavy, but its shape was funny, and I couldn't tell what it was without unwrapping it.

"Guys, I told you – no birthday presents!"

"Oh, don't worry, we didn't even spend any money for this, I swear," Harry assured me, fiddling with his hair and giving me a crooked smile as Ginny nudged the gift I was holding.

"Come on, open it!"

I obeyed, and as I carefully undid the string and pushed the paper aside two objects fell in my lap. One was a book, its thick cover of a dark powder blue with the word _friends _written dozens of times along the edges in silver ink, and the other was a large, slightly uneven stuffed red felt heart that bore the words _We love you_ written in Luna's childish, rounded handwriting and surrounded by seven signatures – the signatures of them all, I understood, as I recognized them.

The heart itself would have been enough to leave me at a loss of words, but as I opened the book, curiosity taking over me, I felt my throat tighten with emotion.

It was an album – a picture album filled with dozens of photos that went from the previous November to only the day before, some funny, some serious, and some that had obviously been taken when we weren't looking. They were moments of happiness caught on pieces of shiny paper that wouldn't have faded with time, and I smiled, hugging each of my friends for that gift.

"I made the heart myself," Luna explained me with a smile as I held the two objects tightly. "And we all put the pictures we had in the book. You know, so that you won't…forget."

"I could never forget, guys, never," I promised, sniffling quietly and blinking to clear my vision from the tears that had once again formed in my eyes. I had never cried as much and as often as that day before. "But I will never thank you enough for this gift."

They all grinned, even though a bit sadly, and for some reason we seemed to be at a loss of words, because no one spoke for several minutes after that.

"Mione?"

It was Emma's small, sleepy voice that broke the silence as she approached the door; she was rubbing her eyes and yawning, which suddenly made me realize how late it was for her. I stood and picked her up easily, rubbing her back as she laid her head on my shoulder; she really was tired.

"See you tomorrow?" I asked the others as I noticed that the rest of the adults were starting to move, too; they would have probably been gone by the time I put Emma to bed and went back downstairs.

"At the break of dawn," Ginny promised with a smirk, and I stuck my tongue out at her, carefully holding my sister with only one arm to wave goodbye.

They waved back as they joined their families – all of them, but one, who was casually leaning against the doorframe by my side, as though his parents weren't just leaving with the rest of his siblings.

"I have my bike," he explained with a smile, even though I hadn't spoken my question out loud. "I'll go back later. I thought you might have needed a hand."

Considering that everything was packed, that the remains of the party had been cleared up and that there was nothing to do, that was probably the lamest excuse in the world, but I didn't care. I didn't want him to leave yet, either.

He helped me take my stuff upstairs as I carried Emma – who had all but fallen asleep in my arms – to her room; I practically had to force her pyjamas on her, for she was trying to snuggle under the sheets still fully dressed, and by the time I was done she had already sank into the pillows, hugging her puppets as she dozed off in the blink of an eye.

"She really was tired, wasn't she?" Ron asked me softly as I tiptoed out of my sister's room and carefully closed the door. I nodded, absentmindedly brushing my fingers against the white polished wood as I looked down. She almost hadn't slept the night before, for she had spent hours crying – but I didn't want to tell him, for it would have made everything too real, too…

Too final.

That night, in the silent house, I could almost fake that everything was alright, that it was just another night, and that nothing was going to change in just a little more than twenty-four hours.

So I walked to the old chest by the stairs and took out a faded quilt that smelled like the lavender and vanilla Aunt Elspeth put in the drawers to scent the laundry and the blankets, and showed it to Ron with a small smile.

"How about watching the sky? We might still catch a glimpse of a few shooting stars, if we are lucky."

He smiled back at me, gently taking my hand in his and lacing our fingers together.

"I'd love to."

* * *

><p>Outside everything was so quiet, so still that for a moment I had the impression that my wish had come true, that time had stopped only for the two of us. I would have happily agreed to live under an eternal night sky if it meant that I got to stay with him.<p>

I spread out the old blanket onto the soft grass at the back of the house, so that we faced away from the village, only fields and gentle hills in front of us for miles and miles, and we sat down in silence, both of us gazing at the dazzling starry sky above us.

It really was an amazing view. In Seattle it was impossible to see more than a few stars because of the light pollution, but in that moment, with no lights on in miles, they were millions, each shining brightly like a drop of pure diamond. I could clearly see the Milky Way, a sinuous path of white shimmering powders crossing the sky, and I was pretty sure I could make out some constellations - those few I could recognize, anyway.

"That's the Great Bear," Ron told me, pointing at a group of brightly shining stars. "And the one over there is the Little Bear."

I tilted my head slightly to the side, trying to understand where the bear part was, and I thought I could faintly make out a large plantigrade-like shape, even though I wasn't sure.

"And that is...Cassiopeia, right?" I asked doubtfully, trying to remember the few confused notions of astronomy I knew from one of my father's old books.

Ron chuckled softly, shaking his head as he directed my hand a little more to the left until it pointed to another agglomerate of stars.

"That is Cassiopeia, love," he corrected me gently. "While that one," and he pointed at what I previously - and erroneously - thought was the Queen, "Is the Dragon. See? It looks a bit like a snake."

"Does it?" I asked him, squinting and feigning innocence as I tried to cover my mistake. Astronomy really wasn't my best subject.

He laughed again, shaking his head.

"First you tell me that you have never been to a carnival, and now this, City Girl?" He _tsk_ed at me in mock disapproval as he pointed at Cassiopeia again - I recognized it now that he had shown me where it was. "But the brightest student of Hogwarts surely knows the fascinating ancient myths behind these constellations, right?"

I grinned sheepishly at him, again playing dumb.

"Do I?"

"Why are you answering my questions with more questions?" he asked me, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Why are you doing the same when answering mine?" I replied, and he shook his head in defeat, his smile mirroring mine.

"You know everything, and yet you have never heard of the Greek myths that lay at the origin of the names of the stars..." he muttered, looking rather incredulous, like I had just told him that I believed the moon was made of ice cream.

"How come you know them so well?" I asked him, actually curious, turning to face him. He simply shrugged, gently covering my hand with his larger one and rubbing small circles into the skin of my wrist, making my heart flutter slightly.

"I had always wondered about the stars," he just said, his smile as soft as the look in his eyes. "Plus, these myths were actually more fun than most of the stuff I had to study in secondary school, so I read a couple of books and asked Dad to teach me what he knew about constellations."

We stayed silent for a few moments, simply enjoying the peace of the warm summer night.

"Will you tell me the story behind Cassiopeia?" I asked after a while, and the smile he gave me was simply dazzling as he laid back and opened his arms for me to join him.

I snuggled close to him, resting my head on his chest as he put an arm around me and pointed at the sky with the other.

"A long time ago," he began, almost giving me the impression that he was telling a fairytale, "In Ethiopia, there was this queen named Cassiopeia, who thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And there wasn't a soul in her kingdom who wasn't sick of her relentless vanity."

"One day, though, she screwed up, and offended the gods. I don't remember what she did, or who she offended, but it was bad - really bad. By provoking the Olympus blokes, she crossed the line."

I sniggered at his particular choice of words, but didn't interrupt him - partly because it was fun, and partly because I was actually curious.

"Anyway, Poseidon, the sea god, punished Cassiopeia by putting her in the heavens upside-down on her throne, stuck for eternity with her skirts hiding the beautiful face she was so proud of."

"That's kind of sad," I muttered, trying to picture the upside-down Cassiopeia in the clump of stars shining above us. It didn't work much, though.

"It was meant to teach men that they shouldn't defy the gods," Ron replied softly, cradling me closer to him. Not that I complained.

"Well, I have always thought that the Greek gods described in the Iliad and the Odyssey were selfish and cruel, and actually more flawed that humans themselves, but in this story Poseidon sounds like a spoiled Slytherin brat who hurts other people just out of fun or boredom. I could easily picture Malfoy in his place," I commented, and Ron chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Well...Hey, look!"

I looked up to where he was pointing, and sure enough, I saw a ribbon of pure white light shooting across the sky; it was gone in the blink of an eye, but it was immediately replaced by another, and another, and another. I watched in awe as dozens of shooting stars rained across the heavens, chasing each other in their wake; I had never seen something so breathtakingly beautiful in my whole life. As I silently stared at the sky, I absentmindedly wondered what was causing such an incredible phenomenon - I was sure no meteor shower was forecasted for that night.

And then, childishly, I made my wish, so that the stars could cherish it and keep it safe.

I remembered that, when I was younger, I used to wish for happiness, love, or a pet - for my parents were both allergic to fur - but now, all I wanted was only that everything could stay exactly the way it was.

How many times had I already wished for that same thing in the last twenty-four hours?

I had lost count.

Neither of us spoke for a while, and it was as though I could actually feel the change in the mood - the air had suddenly become so much thicker, our silence heavy with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I rolled over so that I was laying half on top of Ron's chest, and I carefully searched his eyes with mine.

He looked...sad. So sad I felt like my heart was slowly ripping itself into tiny pieces.

"What's wrong?" I asked, even though I knew perfectly well what was bothering him. It wasn't that difficult to guess, after all.

"It's just..." He seemed to be struggling to find the words, he, who was always so quick to get himself out of trouble with his wit and easy demeanor. He sighed, bringing his hands up to caress my face, always so gentle, so tender.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like, if...if you stayed here?" he finally asked me, his voice barely above a whisper, sounding incredibly vulnerable.

"What it _could _be like," I weakly corrected him, my voice equally low.

To my surprise, he shook his head.

"No, love - what it _would _be like. We both know that there would be no ifs in that case."

I swallowed thickly, lowering my gaze; I knew he was right, but pretending that he wasn't would have made things, if not easier, at least less painful.

"Yes," I finally admitted. "Yes, I have thought about it. But I can't. I can't, because I _have _to go back. I - I have to start college, Emma has school, and now that I'm of age I have to take care of our parents' belongings, and - and find a part-time job to support the both of us while I study..."

I didn't want to cry again, I really didn't. But when tears stung my eyes, I found it hard not to. I just couldn't control it. Especially since the images I had dreamed about – images of a small house there on the hills, of a swarm of grinning kids with bushy red hair and brown eyes, of a quiet, happy life far away from the chaotic city I had grown up into, with the man I loved – kept dancing around in my head, mocking me, daring me to reach out and touch them. They were everything I wanted, yet everything that I couldn't have.

"I'm sorry," Ron muttered, rolling us over so that we were laying on our sides facing each other and wiping the thin trails of tears from my face with his thumbs. "I shouldn't have brought that up; I really am a git. Making you cry was the last thing I wanted."

I smiled sadly and leaned in his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment on their own accord, causing more tears to fall.

"It doesn't matter," I murmured as he comfortingly stroked my hair. "It's not your fault."

Then I looked up at him, and my heart missed a beat when I saw the shine in his eyes – something I had never seen before, for I had never seen him cry. Tears were dancing in his eyes, threatening to overflow; but he would have kept them in check, for he, unlike me, was strong enough to do so.

I felt a painful tug at my chest as I realized that, while he had the strength to go on, I didn't. He had never needed anything to keep him on his feet before I came into his life, and he would have managed it once I had stepped away from it forever, for he knew how to stand alone.

But I didn't.

I didn't, for my legs were wobbly, and his arms had been the only thing keeping me upright when my whole world, my whole life, had crumbled right under my feet. And the same was happening now – everything was turning into dust, and the only thing I could do was to hang onto him like a lifeline, hoping that I would have somehow been able to keep my head above the water once he was gone.

"Hold me tight, Ron," I whispered, snuggling close to him and burying my face in his chest to hide the fresh wave of tears that was making its way down my cheeks. "Please, just hold me tight."

His arms wrapped around me protectively, and he pulled me even closer, tucking my head under his chin and burying one hand in my hair.

It was only when I felt a warm drop on my head that I knew he was crying, too.

There was no need for more words, not in that moment.

* * *

><p>I stirred, shutting my eyes tightly and trying to hide away from the light; I didn't want to wake up, just not yet – I was having a wonderful dream, and I wanted it to last as long as possible. I must have been still half-asleep, though, for the feeling of arms around my waist hadn't disappeared yet, and I could smell freshly mowed grass, clean laundry and faint summer rain on my pillow –<p>

My eyes shot open, and I bolted upright, realization suddenly dawning on me.

It was morning. And we were still outside, sleeping on the blanket.

Heck, I was in trouble.

"Ron!" I whispered loudly, lightly shaking him by the shoulder to wake him up. "Ron, wake up! We've got to get back!"

For a moment he looked like he was just going to ignore me and carry on sleeping, but then he cracked his eyes open, sleepily shielding his face from the light with his hand as he sat up.

"Hey, what – " he began, but I didn't give him time to finish the sentence.

"We slept here all night!"

His hand flew up to his hair, and for a moment he looked utterly horrorstruck.

"Bloody hell, my mother's going to kill me!"

And then we both started laughing, for there was something so silly in that situation that we just couldn't help it – even though there was no apparent reason. We scrambled to our feet, trying to suppress the hysteric giggles, and I gathered the blanket up into my arms as I pointed at the back door, motioning for Ron to be silent. It was still early enough for my aunt to be still asleep – at least, I hoped so, and if we managed to sneak into the house unnoticed we might have pretended that Ron had simply crashed on the couch the previous night.

Unfortunately, my brilliant evil plan dissolved into ashes the moment we set foot over the threshold of the kitchen, for Aunt Elspeth was standing by the sink, with a cup of coffee in her hand and a look that was halfway between disapproval and amusement on her face.

How come I hadn't seen her from the window before I went in? I was sure the kitchen was empty when I pushed the door open…Yet it looked like she had been there the whole time, from well before we woke up. Knowing her, she probably had.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," she greeted us, her stern voice betrayed by the sparkle of hilarity in her eyes – she wasn't good at pretending anger, yet I had the decency of looking at least a little bit embarrassed.

"Morning, Aunt," I replied with a shy smile, laying the folded quilt onto the counter and sitting down in one of the mismatching chairs as I reached for one of the large chocolate chip cookies piled onto a large plate in the center of the table. They were still warm, and smelled heavenly of butter and chocolate – two things to which I couldn't resist.

"Morning, madam," Ron echoed with a shameless, adorable grin, ruffling his already messy hair as he sat down beside me, only his reddened ears betraying his embarrassment.

"I wouldn't be so carefree if I were you, my boy," Aunt Elspeth said, addressing Ron with a smirk as she sat down with us. "I don't think Molly will be very happy when she finds out that one of her children hasn't slept in his bed last night. But," she added, her amused, almost mischievous expression making her look much younger. "Though for all that I know, since you were really tired you slept on our couch, and the two of you have just come back from an early morning walk in the fields. Which is nothing I should worry about, ain't I right, Hermione dear?"

I nodded, even though I couldn't believe my ears – was she really going to lie to Mrs Weasley so that she wouldn't get angry at Ron for staying out all night?

She seemed to notice my surprise, and she gave me a look that spoke volumes. _Do you really think I haven't been young too?_ her eyes seemed to ask. Then her expression softened, and she pushed the plate of biscuits slightly towards me, encouraging me to take one more.

"Eat your breakfast, child, and then go upstairs to check that everything is ready – I suppose that the courier boy is going to be here quite soon to get the boxes, and we probably need to get all your things downstairs before he comes."

I looked down, all thoughts of laughter gone from my mind in the blink of an eye. The boxes, the courier. Right.

My last day in England.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, pushing the plate back as I got up quite brusquely, the chair scratching noisily against the worn terracotta tiles of the floor. "I'd better go and wake Emma up – ask her if there's anything she still hasn't packed, so that I can help her."

I took the old quilt from the counter and held it tight, so tight that my knuckles turned white. It was slightly damp from the humidity of the night – I hadn't noticed before.

Without a second glance, I made my escape from the kitchen, forcing the air in and out of my lungs as I tried to keep my damn tear ducts in check: I didn't want to cry again, not there, in front of my aunt, in front of Ron – it would have only made things more difficult, for all of us.

I heard the footsteps behind me, and I guiltily quickened my pace, trying to run upstairs before he could reach me. All I wanted was just to run away, like the coward I was, and hide – in the closet, under the bed, _anywhere_ – from everything, all the playful jokes and laughter of just minutes before completely gone.

His hand closed around my arm, always so gentle, and I stopped halfway up the stairs, my whole body shaking as I tried to find the courage to turn around and look him in the face.

The problem was, I couldn't find it. I couldn't bear to see the look I knew I would have found in his eyes, the sadness, the concern, the _love_…

"Hermione, please," he whispered, sounding so vulnerable I distinctly felt my heart breaking over and over again. "Don't shut me out. Don't do this."

I closed my eyes, my teeth sinking in my lower lip as I forced back the sob that was swelling in my throat, and I felt one single tear escape my shut eyelids, leaving a burning trail on my cheek.

I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want his voice to sound so pained, so…

So _broken_.

It took every single ounce of my strength to turn around and face him, and a moment later his arms were around me, and I was clinging to him with the same desperation a drowning man tries to hold onto a piece of wood with – like my life depended on it.

When I finally managed to look up at him, I knew that no matter what, I would have never been able to get over him. I would have never been able to just forget him and move on – and I didn't want to.

"I am sorry," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "I am so sorry, Ron…"

I stroked his cheek, feeling the familiar texture of his skin under my fingertips, and I kissed him, like I had already done a million times; that time, though, there was an edge of finality to it – it tasted like tears, loss, and goodbye.

And then, too soon, it was over.

"I love you," he murmured, his eyes boring into mine with such intensity they seemed to smolder like blue fire. "No matter what, Hermione Granger, I love you. And even if I had the power of changing the past, I would make the same choices all over again, for it's always been you, from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. I want you to know that."

"I love you, too," I whispered, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears as Ron wiped the tears away from my cheeks with the gentlest of touches. "And it doesn't matter how much it hurts now, I wouldn't change a single thing of the last nine months, either. Not for anything in the world."

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, and when we eventually let go of each other, I felt a hollowness inside that threatened to overwhelm me. If the pain was so excruciating now, when standing just inches away from him, how would have it felt the following day, when saying goodbye? Or the day after, when there would be hundreds of thousands of miles of water between us? Or after a week, or a month? How would have it felt, when memories would have eventually started to fade, first at the edges, and then more and more by the day?

I knew how it worked, for it had already started happening with my parents: the small things would have gone first – the way the sunlight played with his hair when we sat outside in the school grounds, the pattern of his freckles across his nose, the feeling of his hands, rough and gentle altogether, as he caressed my face. And then, slowly, the bigger, more important things would have drifted away, and I would have forgotten the sound of his laughter, the exact colour of his stormy eyes, his sweet smell of clean laundry and summer rain and freshly mowed grass. Would my love have faded away eventually, too – this love that now seemed unbreakable and everlasting to me – taken away by merciless Father Time?

The simple thought made me sick to the stomach. I had already lost so much – it wasn't fair that I had to give up on him, too, on my newly found family and friends. But there was business I had to take care of, and exams, and college, and Emma's school…

It all seemed of no importance to me now.

"I don't want to do this," I whispered, closing my eyes as a fresh wave of tears rolled down my face and dripped down onto the soft carpet that lined the stairs, leaving small, perfectly circular marks onto the light fabric.

I let them fall, along with the pieces of my broken heart.

* * *

><p>Looking back at it, I can't remember much of the rest of the day. The courier boy came and went, taking all of our things, carefully packed in large cardboard boxes, away with him, and for the whole afternoon people kept knocking at our door for one last hug, one last goodbye word, one last recommendation. There were Emma's friends, and <em>my<em> friends, along with their families; I was dizzy, my head throbbing after crying so much, and the memories of those last hours are confused, as though seen through a thick fog. But I can remember the feeling of my friends' hugs, and of Mrs Weasley's, who was crying as though Emma and I were two of her own children – and I felt like I was losing my parents all over again as I slowly bid goodbye, letting a small piece of myself go with each of them that left.

By the time darkness eventually came, I felt empty – like the seashells I used to collect when my parents brought me to the seaside: perfectly intact on the outside, but inside hollow, uninhabited.

"Go upstairs and get into your pyjamas, honey," I told Emma, softly stroking her hair; she was curled up on the sofa with her head in my lap, exhausted after weeping for most of the day. "I'll come and tuck you in in a few minutes."

She nodded and, without a word, she stood and walked away, clutching her stuffed Eeyore like it was a lifeline. I wished I could hold onto something too, but now wasn't the moment: I had to be strong, for both of us, for _I _was supposed to be the adult, the responsible one, even though all I wanted was to hide somewhere and weep like a little child.

"I'll go and do the dishes," Aunt Elspeth said then, standing from her armchair and bending down to kiss me on the cheek. "Good night, honey. I'll see you in the morning."

She, too, looked pale and drawn, her dark eyes shining slightly with unshed tears; I knew that there was no washing-up to do, that it was only an excuse to hide away into the kitchen and give me a few last, precious minutes to say the most difficult goodbye of all, and I smiled at her gratefully, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment before she went.

We were both silent, me sitting on the sofa, Ron leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast, so still he looked like a statue.

It was him who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It just seems like there are so many things unsaid, doesn't it? So many things that we should have thought of earlier, no matter how stupid they are."

I sighed, wrapping my arms around my body as though to keep myself together as I stood and walked to him, slowly, carefully; my legs felt too weak now, just like they were when I first arrived.

"It always feels like this," I whispered, struggling to push my voice out, past my lips. "No matter how much time we have, when we have to say goodbye there are always more things we want to say, more things we want to do."

"I wish I had found the guts to ask you out sooner," he muttered with a small, sad smile. "We would have had more time, then. Weeks. Months, maybe."

"We can't live for the maybes, Ron. Not now that we can't change anything of what has happened."

He gently pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on my hair.

"You have always been the rational one," he said, his voice sounding constricted and muffled as he spoke. "But you know I'm not that good when it comes to reality. I'm not as strong as you are, I have never been. And tomorrow, watch you get on that plane –"

"I don't want you to," I said suddenly, interrupting him before he could finish the sentence, holding him as tight as I could as I hid my face in his shoulder. If he walked me to the gate, I would have never been able to leave him, I knew. That's why I was doing that, even though I knew it was going to hurt both of us.

A clean break.

I felt him exhale slowly, felt his arms tighten around me as his whole body seemed to freeze for a moment.

"You don't want me there," he said simply – it was not a question, but a statement, and his voice sounded so weak and…_defeated_ that, for a moment, I almost changed my mind. But I couldn't. I knew that I couldn't.

I lifted my head to look at, my hands instinctively going up to caress his face as I saw the veil of tears shining in his eyes.

"If I see you at the airport tomorrow," I said slowly, carefully weighing each word before I spoke it, "I won't be able to get on that plane."

He was silent for a few moments, his face unmoving and his eyes closed, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed the only sign that he was alive, and as I felt his body shake ever so slightly against mine, I wished I could simply disappear inside him, fuse with him so that I wouldn't have to let go.

If only…

"So it is goodbye, then?"

His eyes, when he opened them again, were burning – with pain, loss, longing, and, most of all, love. In that moment, I knew that they mirrored mine perfectly.

There was nothing I could say in that moment that would have made things easier – more words would have only led to more tears, to more pain.

So I just kissed him, with all I had, holding him tight as I shook with silent sobs, for hat felt like an eternity; all that mattered was him, his arms around me, his hands caressing my face and hair, the soft, sweet words he was whispering in between kisses – the same I was whispering back to him.

_I love you. _

_I'll miss you. _

_I love you._

_Don't forget me. _

_I love you. _

_I'll write. _

_I love you._

_I'll call. _

_I love you._

And, too soon, it was over; our kisses became slower, sweeter, and they tasted like the salt of the tears we were both shedding.

They tasted like goodbye.

Slowly, fighting against ourselves, we parted, and took a step away from each other, hands itching to reach out, arms longing for one last hug, lips begging for one last kiss.

We walked in silence to the hall, neither of us speaking as he opened the door and took a step forward to stand onto the stone steps outside; only then he turned around to face me, his eyes dark as the night sky during a storm as they moved over my face, as though trying to memorise my features now that they still could.

I stood on the threshold as his hands found mine one last time, as we stole one more kiss, and another, and another, each unable to let go of the other.

It was him who pulled away in the end, his hands gently cupping my face as he brushed my tears away with his thumbs.

"Don't cry," he whispered softly, though his own eyes were shining once again with tears. "Don't cry, my love, my beauty, my heart. You're going to be ok, I promise."

I shook my head, slowly, as I leaned into his touch, covering his hands with mine. I didn't want to let go. I _couldn't_.

"Yes, you will," he replied, his eyes boring into mine as he spoke. "You will, and you will do well, and you will be happy. I know you will."

And then his hands were gone, and he was walking away, leaving the pool of light of the doorsteps, crossing the yard and heading into the field, his figure becoming smaller and smaller until he disappeared in the darkness and I was left alone.

Alone.

I couldn't hold it anymore, and I slid to the ground, sobbing and hugging my legs as I rocked myself back and forth slowly, shaking in the cool breeze of the late August night.

It was Aunt Elspeth who found me like that a while later, still curled up by the open door. She helped me up and walked me upstairs, to my bedroom, and held me tight and soothed me until my eyes ran dry and my sobs subsided, until, exhausted, I fell into a restless sleep.

That night, I dreamed of all that could have been. In the morning I would have faced reality, but for that one last night, I let myself live a few last hours of happiness.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Aunt Elspeth woke us up at dawn, and I went through the motions automatically, my mind blank as that of an automaton. I barely registered what I was doing as I washed my face and got dressed, as I took my suitcase and Emma's and carried them downstairs. There was a full breakfast laid out for us, but I didn't touch a bite of it, and would Emma hadn't I forced her to eat something before we went.<p>

I gathered my last things – my jacket, my bag – and checked that Emma hadn't forgotten anything in her room; only then I allowed myself to say goodbye at the house – my home – that I would have missed so much.

It was time.

I helped Aunt Elspeth to load the suitcases in the small luggage van, and I climbed in the narrow backseat of the shiny black car with Emma, staring longingly out of the window as I tried to memorise every detail of the landscape, every insignificant bit of it all.

The engine started, and then we were moving, first leaving the house behind, then the fields of ripe wheat, and eventually the town, until nothing familiar was left on the long road to London.

I pressed my hand to the cool glass of the car window and leaned my head against it, letting my eyes linger on the villages and farms we passed on our way, losing track of time as the car continued its journey.

Eventually, we got to Heathrow Airport, and again it was as though someone had pressed the _fast forward_ button: unloading the car, checking in, taking the tickets, it all passed in a blur.

Once we arrived at the gate, we stopped.

"Aunt…" I said softly, finding myself at a loss of words as I hugged Aunt Elspeth tightly, feeling at home in her motherly embrace. How could I tell her how much I loved her, how much I would have missed her? How can you put those feelings into words?

"It's ok, dear," she told me softly, smoothing my hair down and smiling a sweet, tearful smile. "You don't need to say anything to me. I already know."

I smiled through my tears, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Thank you," I said simply, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you so much – for everything."

She hugged Emma, too, and kissed her on the forehead with a hundred recommendations and gentle words, and she eventually sent us off, wiping her eyes with a flowered handkerchief as she waved.

And then, we were alone again, Emma and I, she clutching my hand in her small one and I trying to be strong enough not to break as we boarded the plane, like those nine months had been only a wonderful dream, like nothing had ever changed and we were still two scared orphans trying to brave the storm.

Now, the only thing I could do was pray to make it through.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, I know, this was really sad - I cried my eyes out as I was writing this, really! :,( But the good thing is, the happy ending is just around the corner - just one more chapter to go! Plus, I think, an epilogue of pure fluffy happiness... :)<strong>

**So, what did you think of the chapter? Hated it? Loved it? Pleasepleaseplease, let me know - I love your feedback and your reviews, they make me so happy! And remember, a happy writer writes more and faster... :D**

**I can't set a date for the next update, but I'll try to put the last chapter on before the end of the week, or by the next weekend at the latest, it depends on how much homework I will have. Until next time!**

**Jez**


	19. Chapter 17

**I know, I suck - I promised I would have published in November, and now here I am, over four months late...XD I really can't work on deadlines - especially with all the coursework and exams already approaching (again! O.O). And I am really, REALLY sorry for taking so long in posting this last chapter, but between being busy with school and the worst writer's block that I have ever had (probably because I love this story too much and I don't really want it to end! XD) it's taken me an eternity. **

**To be honest, I have written most of the chapter during my free study periods during this past week (if my teachers catch me, I'm dead), and I really hope you'll like it. If you, wonderful readers and reviewers, are still putting up with me and reading the story, that is :)**

****I might add something in the next few weeks - a little epilogue, looking at the couple a few years later - though I'm actually already focusing on a new project, so I don't really know how long it might take. I just hope you'll keep checking in sometimes - to this story, and maybe to some of my other pieces. If you already haven't fallen asleep reading this endless intro :D****

**As always, enjoy the read - and review, review, review, cause I LOVE to know what you think!**

**J**

* * *

><p>Chapter 17: Of Impulsive Decisions and Insistent Knocks, of White Roses and True Love<p>

Ron's POV:

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The hands of the clock on my wall moved painfully slowly, their faint ticking the only noise in my dark room.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since I had last seen her, held her, kissed her. Three weeks since I had been whole.

And it was killing me.

We wrote to each other, of course, every day. Several times a day. We told each other everything that happened, sent pictures, shared every detail of our lives in an attempt at pretending nothing had changed. I had come to live for those emails, for they were the only thing that kept her somehow within my reach; not having her here was a physical pain, every beat of my heart, every breath reminding me of her absence.

Without her, I was…numb. Empty.

I could hear faint noises coming from downstairs – muffled voices, the scraping of chairs on the floor, the clattering of plates and cutlery, water running from one of the bathrooms; I didn't check the clock, but it sounded like early morning.

On a normal day three weeks before, I would have gotten up, had a shower and gone downstairs to have breakfast with my family. I would have laughed with Fred and George, teased Ginny, and helped Mum with the dishes. I would have spent one of the last days of freedom out with my friends.

Today, I lay on my bed, unmoving, for what like seemed an eternity, until a pale ray of sunlight crept through a gap in the curtains of my window, drawing a tiny stripe of light in the otherwise shadowy room; if I focused on it, I could see the tiny dust particles dancing in the air, slowly rising and falling in front of my eyes.

_Up._

_Down._

_Up._

_Down._

Suddenly, my room seemed too stuffy, too small – like I had no room to breathe.

I sat up, pushing the sheets away and shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I needed to move, to do something, or I was sure I would go crazy.

As I let my eyes wander across my room, I wondered how it had become such a mess; clothes were scattered across the floor, along with old and new textbooks, scraps of paper and bits of stationery; I hadn't tidied it up in more than three weeks, only accumulating layers and layers of crumpled papers and not exactly clean laundry to the point I almost couldn't see the floorboards anymore.

God, I was doing everything wrong.

With a sudden determination I didn't know I possessed, I started to sweep everything up quickly, throwing the surprising amounts of litter in the wastepaper basket in the corner, piling up my books on the desk and picking up every bit of clothing from the floor, checking twice under the bed to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

Then, I grabbed a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt from my closet – there weren't many other clean items of clothing, apparently – and I slipped out of my room and into the bathroom, which was thankfully empty.

Once everything was thrown into the hamper, I opted for a shower. Twice – I couldn't actually remember the last time I had really cleaned up, much to my shame, and I didn't need the nose of a bloodhound to know that I didn't exactly smell nice. Heck, even worms could probably tell that I hadn't showered in what probably was more than a week – and they didn't have noses, did they?

When I was done trying to scrub my very skin away, I dressed and quickly toweled my hair, finding the movement – any kind of movement – a relief; any distraction, anything that would divert my thoughts from _her_, even if just for a few seconds, was a blessing.

As I crossed the landing, I couldn't help the loud complaints of my stomach at the delicious smell of food still coming from downstairs – pancakes, toast, eggs and bacon, judging from the smell. How long had it been since I had last eaten a real meal? I couldn't really tell – the last thing I remembered eating was the sandwich my mother had brought me up to my room the previous day at lunchtime…or had it been two days before?

Whenever it was, I was starving.

The house was silent now – but, after all, it wasn't surprising, since a quick look at the clock in the living room told me that it was half past ten already. Dad was at work, Ginny was surely with Harry, and Fred and George had probably gone into town to look for a job – they had decided not to go to college to set up a 'business', as they liked to call it, and after three weeks of fights and yells, our parents had given up on trying to change their mind. As for Mom –

"Oh, there you are, dear. I thought I had heard you moving up there a while ago."

She was sitting at the kitchen table, her flowered apron draped on the back of her chair, a cup of tea in her hands as she looked at me with a sweet, comprehensive smile; it was the kind of look she used to give me when I was little and sick, and it made me feel incredibly young and vulnerable in that moment.

"Here, sit down –I was about to bring your breakfast upstairs to you, but since you are here…"

I nodded silently and sat down as she put a plate in front of me – eggs, bacon and buttery toast, that, though cold, smelled delicious to my empty stomach – before going back to her chair by my side, her eyes never leaving me as I ate.

"Thank you," I muttered with a half-hearted smile before I dug into the food, feeling like my stomach was about to digest itself.

Mom just looked at me as I ate, looking worried, relieved and sad altogether, and I couldn't help looking up often to send her questioning glances, for that behaviour was completely out of character for her – she had never been that watchful even with Ginny, who, being the youngest and the only girl, had always been treated with more consideration than us boys.

Just when I was about to ask her if anything was wrong, though, she spoke up, her voice almost tentative as she seemed to struggle with words.

"Ronnie, darling…" she started, and for a moment I really feared something had happened, for she hadn't called me _Ronnie _since I was five. That _darling_, then, was completely new, for I was sure she had never called any of us that. "Your father and I talked yesterday, and we…we are worried sick about you."

I put my fork down, but I didn't look at her – I couldn't not when I knew she was right. Guilt, the little bastard, came nagging at me, making blood rush to my face as that damn Weasley blush crept up to my ears.

"You have not been yourself since she left, Ron. You don't talk – to me, to your brothers, to your friends – and stay hidden up in your room the whole day; you hardly eat anything – you've become so thin, dear – and you look so tired, I doubt you're even sleeping much. I know that it's hard, but seeing you like this…Harry came around yesterday, just to tell me how everyone else was so worried. And we all…we all agreed with him."

I shook my head, unable to look up. Oh, it was not because of pride – it was fear. Fear of seeing the sympathy, the pity on her face. As if I hadn't noticed how I had completely shut everyone out. It's just that I couldn't…

"I can't do it," I breathed, taking my face in my hands as I fought back tears. I hadn't cried since we said goodbye, three weeks before, and I wouldn't cry now. I didn't want to. "The distance is too much, and I…I can't do this. It's like part of me – the good part, the happy, _alive _part – flew away with her."

Mom didn't say anything, even though I expected her to try and change my mind somehow – she always did when I wanted to give up on something, no matter if it was violin lessons or a maths problem. Instead she just stood and hugged me, pulling me in a soft embrace that smelled like clean laundry, lavender and childhood, and I almost broke as I hugged her back – just almost, though.

"We all miss her, dear," she said softly, and I shook my head with a harsh, empty laugh as I pulled away from her and ran a hand through my hair, ruffling it even more.

"No," I said, my voice, though low, sounding hard and cynical even to my own ears. "Not like I do. Not like you'd miss an arm, or a leg, or some other part of you."

_Like your heart._

Out of instinct, my hand went up to my heart; it was physically impossible, I knew, but it was as though there was nothing in my chest where it should have been – only an empty hole.

"How did you know, Mom?" I asked then, out of the blue, looking at my mother in the eyes for the first time since we started talking. "How did you know that Dad was the one?"

At that, she smiled that soft, fond smile that had always been reserved for my father only, her eyes sparkling with an emotion that I knew way too well.

"Oh, I knew the very moment I saw him. I was eleven, and he was thirteen. It was my first day at Hogwarts, when I tripped along the corridor and this boy caught me and then picked up the books I had dropped on the floor. He carried them for me to my class, and when I walked out at the end of the period he was there again, with his hair tousled, his glasses a bit askew and the most beautiful smile on his face, asking me if I wanted to have lunch with him and his friends in the Great Hall."

She laughed at the memory, shaking her head as if in front of something incredibly amusing.

"That night, I wrote in my diary that I would marry him someday. And that was just it, for me."

Only then she seemed to realize what she had said, and the reason for my question, and her eyes slowly filled with tears as she looked at me with the strangest expression on her face.

"You really love her, don't you?" she asked, and I nodded, because yes, I did. More than anything in the world – more than my own life.

In front of such a statement from their eighteen-year-old son, most parents would have shaken their heads, dismissing it as a simple infatuation, for what could someone so young know of love?

But Mom wasn't most parents. Not where things really mattered.

She took my face in her hands and looked at me straight in the eyes with the most determined expression in the world.

"Then fight for her, honey. If she's so important – if she matters so much to you – then fight for her. We get to live only one life, and all that we can bring with us once we depart is love – it's all that remains, in the end. Your father and I found it when we were so young – and I can see in your eyes that you have, too. Don't waste your chance."

It was all it took for me to make up my mind.

I jumped to my feet and hugged my mother tightly, throwing a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall and already calculating how much time it would take me. Oh, it was crazy, I knew it, but I didn't care. I had nothing to lose, not anymore.

"I won't," I promised her, and then I ran away, almost risked breaking my neck as I ran up the stairs, jumping two steps at a time in my haste; it was half past ten, how long would it take me to pack my bag? Ten minutes? Fifteen?

I threw my door open and grabbed my faded rucksack from under the bed; then stuffed another pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and some underwear in it. I fetched my tennis shoes from the chair, where they were hanging by the laces, and slipped them on as quickly as I could. Then a hoodie – warm, Gryffindor red – and my keys and passport, which were on the desk with my textbooks.

Was I forgetting something? Oh, right – my cell phone, and its charger. And…money. Right, money.

Since I was eleven, I had been saving every penny so that I could travel after graduation – it was a project Harry and I had. To be honest though, I was way too happy to sacrifice the project to my cause.

I tore open the old shoe box, which was sealed with a ton of Sellotape and had only a small opening on the lid to insert what I earned from my pocket money and summer jobs, and turned it upside-down, letting its contents fall on my bed. Then I started counting.

Eight years of putting every penny away had paid back, somehow, for I now in hand the sum of one thousand, three hundred and forty-seven pounds and 69 pennies, which was way more than I expected.

Was it enough to pay for a ticket to America? I was almost sure it was – for a last-minute ticket in economy class on a very cheap company, at least. But was it enough for a return ticket? Or only for a one-way one?

I honestly didn't care. All that mattered was getting there – of how to come back to England, I would have thought later.

I packed the money in the front pocket of the rucksack and ran back down the stairs to the bathroom, where I snatched my toothbrush and basic hygiene supplies from the cabinet above the sink.

Just as I was dashing out again, I literally crashed into the Twins, who were walking out of their room, and the three of us fell into a heap of gangly limbs and tousled ginger heads on the floor.

"What the heck are you doing?" I asked them as I untangled myself, not without difficulty.

"We?" Fred asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Jeez, Ron, what the heck are _you _doing, running like you have Professor Snape hot on your heels ready to give you detention!" George added, mirroring his brother's position and rubbing the spot where their heads had bumped together.

Only then they noticed the faded green rucksack on the floor, and their eyes darted from me, to it, to me again. For once, they didn't look smug, amused, or crazy. They simply seemed…well, confused. And possibly afraid that I was losing my mind.

"Are you…"

"…going somewhere?"

God, I hated when they started finishing each other's sentences. Most people found it funny, but I only thought it was annoying. And creepy, though just a little bit.

"Yes," I said simply, getting back on my feet and throwing my bag over my shoulder as I checked my watch. Five to eleven.

"And where?" George asked, gaping at me like I had just said that the world was about to end.

"Seattle," I told them over my shoulder as I headed downstairs; they, of course, followed me.

"Seattle?" they chorused, sounding shocked. Which they probably were, given the circumstances – actually, I couldn't really blame them at all.

I nodded, stopping for a moment to give them a half-smile. "I'm getting Hermione back to us."

They looked at each other with wide eyes, before their faces split into two identical huge grins.

"Oh wow, little brother!"

"That's just what we were waiting for!"

"GIN!" they then yelled, so loud I was sure the whole town had heard.

Of course, my sister came rushing out of her room in a matter of seconds, almost bumping into us in the process.

"What?" she asked, looking half-alarmed, half-annoyed. "What's happened now?"

"He's going to America to sweep Hermione off her feet and bring her back here!" Fred enthusiastically informed her, and she squealed, hugging me so tightly I thought I heard several ribs crack.

"It was about time, you bloody git!" she exclaimed, laughing, before she took out her cell phone and quickly composed a number.

"Harry, your best friend has probably gone insane, and has decided to fly to Seattle to get Hermione! No, I'm not kidding! Of course he is! What? Yeah, but hurry then! You have less than ten minutes!" she said at top speed as she, too, followed me to the hall.

"Seriously, Gin?" I asked her as I took my jacket from the hook by the door and stuffed it into the bag. I had no clue of what the weather would have been in Seattle, and I didn't want to fly across the world only to freeze to death once I got there. "I don't have time for this – waiting for Harry? And for what? The coach to Heathrow stops in town at a quarter past eleven, which means I have…" – I checked my watch again – "Thirteen minutes to get to the bus station and jump onto it."

_Shit, I would never make it._

"We'll drive you," George said then, gripping my arm before I could run out of the door without a second thought. "To Heathrow. So we can see you off."

He wasn't joking – I had never seen him so serious before.

"Then go – it's going to take you hours to get there, with all the traffic."

I had literally forgotten that Mom was there, too.

I walked up to her and hugged her again, just like I had done before in the kitchen.

"Be careful," she reminded me, fixing the hood of my jumper and checking that my bag was closed. It was what moms were made for – fixing clothes and making recommendations.

"Have you got your phone? And your toothbrush? And clean socks?" she asked, and I nodded, letting her fidget with my hair in an attempt at smoothing it down, for once without complaining.

"And enough money for the journey?" she asked again, and I, again, nodded, though I wasn't exactly sure of that. I should have checked on the Internet for prices, done more research. But now that I had taken my decision, I was too afraid that I would have changed my mind had I hesitated.

"Then go, darling. Just – call me, ok? When you get on the plane, and when you land. And in between, if you can."

I smiled at her – _I'll be fine_, I assured her – and then I turned to go.

"And, Ron?" she called again, when I was already walking through the door, Ginny and the Twins preceding me to the car. I stopped and looked at her over my shoulder.

She was standing in the middle of the hall, looking at me with a mix of sadness and pride in her eyes – she was proud of me, I realized, even though what I was doing would have been considered crazy and absurd by anyone else.

She motioned for me to come closer, and, without a word, she handed me a small object, which made my eyes go as wide as saucers when I actually recognized it – for I had seen it around before, and had heard the story behind it a hundred times when I was little.

I liked at her, incredulous, and she just smiled a kind, tearful smile as she nodded in response to my questioning eyes.

"Do bring her back home."

Harry stormed in the yard just as we were getting in the car – only he wasn't alone, for Luna and Neville were right behind him, looking tousled and breathless as they literally jumped off their bikes, leaving them in a heap by the shed, and ran to the Twins' old, rusty Nissan.

"We're never going to fit in here!" I exclaimed as the seven of us stood by the car, which suddenly looked rather small to my eyes.

"Oh, we are," Fred said confidently, rubbing his hands together and sticking his head in through the back window as if to consider how much space we had. "With the proper arrangements, of course."

Ten minutes and many insults later, we were somehow all crammed into the car – Fred and George at the front, Harry, Ginny, Luna and I squished together in the backseat, and Neville sitting in the boot, with his knees jammed against his chest to fit in the small space. Luna had volunteered to get in there, since she was the smallest, but he had refused to let her, and had somehow managed to squeeze himself in there – which was surprising, considering how tall he was.

"Everyone in there?" George asked, and we grumbled a _yeah _as he turned the keys into the ignition and started the car, the tires squelching a bit onto the dirt as he reversed into the deserted road and sped up – causing everyone in the back to bump against each other – towards the town.

"Gin," Fred said then, taking an old, wrinkly, messily-folded map of England from the gloves compartment and handing it to us in the back with a grin. "You're our Sat Nav."

She nodded and proceeded to unfold the map, which covered all of us like a paper blanket as she studied the tangles of roads, running her index finger on the faded lines with a determined, critical look on her face.

"We have to get on the M5," she said after a couple of minutes, "For I think 80 miles. And then pass to the M4, for…a hundred-something miles. We should be there in a couple of hours. Maybe a bit more."

"Have you considered the traffic?" Neville asked from the boot, peeking at the map from over our heads. "There's bound to be a bit as we get nearer to London."

"Right, the traffic…Well, I'd say more or less three hours, then," she said with a shrug, elbowing me in the ribs to get a bit more space on the seat.

It was going to be a hell of a trip…

Three hours, several wrong turns and a lot of traffic – and cursing, mostly on Ginny's part – later we were all standing in the middle of the entrance of Heathrow Airport, looking around with what I knew was the most hopeless expression in the world.

"How the heck are we supposed to know where to go?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair so that it stood up even more than usual, making him look remarkably like a hedgehog. "This place is _huge_!"

He was damn right – the place was like a labyrinth, with hundreds of people scurrying around in all directions trailing behind them monstrous suitcases and piles of luggage; it gave me the clear impression that everyone knew where to go or what to do, and it only made me feel terribly stupid.

"Oh, wipe that desperate puppy look from your face, Ron," Ginny said suddenly in a cheerful voice, bumping her shoulder into mine. "Let's just ask for directions, and then we can go."

I looked at her in disbelief as she stalked away, smiling brightly as she walked through the tiny booths of a crowded café corner and stopped at the counter to talk to a blonde, freckled waitress who looked like she wasn't even sixteen yet with her big smile and braided pigtails.

They talked for a few minutes, both gesticulating a lot, and eventually my sister waved and almost skipped back to us, grinning with a smug _Told You So _look on her face.

"Down there to look for a ticket," she said confidently, pointing at an undefined area along the endless rows of check-ins. "She said that if we're lucky we might find a cheap last-minute deal for you."

A while later we were all waiting at a counter as a very tall, obviously fake-blonde woman dressed in a blue uniform tapped away at lightning speed on the keyboard of her computer to check the flights; she looked extremely cheerful, while I could barely stand still, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as the seconds ticked by.

Jeez, how long had she been tapping on that damn keyboard? Ten Minutes? Fifteen? An hour?

Suddenly she looked up smiling a 1000-watt smile, her blood-red lips stretched widely over her impossibly white teeth. Jeez, she looked like something straight out of an old Pan Am poster.

"Oh, there is a flight tonight – but oh, sorry, it's complete. Here, let me check again…"

And she started again, her eyes glued to the monitor in front of her.

I swear, I had never met a more annoying person in my whole life.

She repeated the little pantomime of the _Oh, sorry, the flight is full _five more times, making me wish I could just strangle her and be done with it. I had been stupid, thinking that everything would have been easy…

"There has been a cancellation on flight AA 6128, only minutes ago," the annoying woman said suddenly, and I looked at her, incredulous – was she kidding me? How unrealistic was it, that a place suddenly became available? This wasn't a damn romance novel, for Heaven's sake!

"It is a direct flight, leaving in fourteen minutes from terminal 5."

It took me only the fraction of a second to make my decision.

"I'll take it."

After that, I ran – literally – like I had the whole of the Slytherin House, plus Snape, chasing after me, with the rest of my siblings and friends following closely behind like some kind of bizarre parade; I had exactly twelve minutes to get to the gate, and I had no clue of how long finding the gate would take. At least I didn't have to check in since I only had my hand baggage on me, or I would have never made it.

Once at the metal detectors, the others stopped me for a moment to give me some kind of suffocating group hug before they pushed me through, waving and yelling and attracting the attention of the whole airport on us. For once, though, I didn't blush – in some ways, I felt more like some kind of hero going off to a dangerous mission that a simple lovestruck boy who was about to make the craziest thing ever.

"Good luck, little brother!"

"Bring Hermione back home!"

"Be safe!"

I grinned and waved at them as I grabbed my bag from the tape.

"I will!"

And then I sped away once again, this time on my own, making my way through the crowded area of the Duty-Free, bumping into people and stomping on innocent passerbys's feet, pushing through arms and shoulders and backs and mountains of luggage until I finally emerged at the gates.

Shit, it was closing.

"Wait!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, waving my ticket in the air as I ran like a madman. "Wait – I have to get onto the plane, too!"

The steward at the counter rolled his eyes and shook his head with a sigh.

"There always is someone this late, boy," he told me with a half-smile as he took my ticket. "My, don't you look in a hurry –"

I didn't even stop to hear the rest of his sentence – I just snatched my ticket back and dashed through the double doors, my lungs burning from the effort as I sped through the now deserted corridor that led outside.

I got to plane just as the ladder was being removed, and I ignored the irritated glares of the hostesses as I scrambled on board, showing them my boarding chart with a slightly shaky hand.

"Seat 71 C," they told me dryly, and I sighed in relief, quickly walking down the rows of passengers and slumping down in my seat.

Now, all I had to do was to wait.

Hermione's POV:

_No new messages._

The three words, which would have looked completely innocent while on their own, when put together represented my worst fear. It was as though they were mocking me, sitting there, jet black against the white background as I checked my inbox for what felt like the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours.

My last email hadn't been replied to. Actually, as far as the small closed envelope that marked it on the screen, it hadn't even been opened yet. And it had been twenty-four full hours. It had never happened before – not once in three full weeks. Ron _always _replied as soon as he saw the message, just as I did. And now my insides were twisted with worry as a hundred possible scenarios forced their way into my mind, some rational, some downright painful.

_His computer broke._

_He went away for a few days before the start of term with his family._

_Something happened to him._

_He doesn't care anymore._

_He got tired of me._

_I left, so now he's moving on._

_It's a way of ending our relationship – a clean break._

As that thought crossed my mind, I stood up suddenly from the chair, refusing to go there. He wasn't breaking up with me, he would have never done something like that – not this way, not by just disappearing. He knew it would have driven me mad with worry. He _knew_.

But wasn't I going mad already, after all? Three weeks had passed. Three endless, excruciating weeks. And I could barely breathe from the pain that had seemed to constrict my chest since the moment I got on the pane to Seattle. I barely ate. I barely slept. And, I was coming to realize, I barely _lived_.

I felt guilty, for Emma needed me to be strong, and to take care of her now that it was just the two of us again. And I mostly managed to look normal, keeping my mind occupied first by unpacking, then by studying for the additional exams that I needed to get into college. Only now everything was unpacked, all the boxes gone, and I had had my last exam three days ago. Apart from making sure that Emma was well, that she ate and slept and played, I had stopped caring.

In some ways, it scared me a little, for I knew that I was really starting to show depression – _real _depression. But what could I do? I didn't have the strength to fight it – it was already a miracle that I somehow managed to get out of bed and put on a façade of normalcy every morning.

Feeling the now familiar weight in my chest become even heavier, I closed my laptop and walked away from it, out of the room that had once felt so safe and familiar, but that now felt like that of a stranger.

As much as I tried, I couldn't feel at home. The apartment seemed too dark somehow, the windows too small, the buildings surrounding it too large and intimidating. I missed the open spaces, the freedom, the bright colours of the English countryside. Here in Seattle, there were no colours – even when it was sunny, the sky was dull and pale – and everything seemed to be covered in concrete, to the point it felt suffocating sometimes. Even the park where my parents used to take me when I was a child now seemed too small and sad with its scrawny trees and yellowish lawns.

With a sigh, I plopped down on the sofa, tightly shutting my eyes to fight the tears back.

_It's just a matter of time_, I tried to tell myself for the thousandth time. _You just have to adjust, get used to it once again. Give yourself time._

The thought sounded pathetically like a lie even to myself. Adjusting can take a few days. Maybe a week at most. But almost a month? No, definitely not.

_Maybe we should move_, I thought then, and suddenly the idea didn't seem that bad. _After all, the apartment is way too big for just the two of us. And the city is so chaotic…Living in a small town again would be nice. Somewhere quiet, with a nice school for Emma. And I could travel back and forth to college by train. It wouldn't be bad at all._

Yet, even as I considered it, I knew that no place would ever be like Ottery St Catchpole. No matter how far we moved, we would never find those same people, those same places, those same feelings of safety and familiarity and _belonging _again.

I felt like screaming. Or crying. Or maybe both, just to be sure. But it was late, Emma had already gone to bed, and the neighbours would have probably called the police had they heard me screaming my frustration out like a banshee.

Then, suddenly, came a knock to the door.

Startled, I sat up and checked the clock on the wall; it was past nine in the evening, who could it ever be?

For a while, I considered not answering the door, for it was probably a salesman or some delivery guy who couldn't find the right address.

After a few seconds, though, the knock came again, louder, rapping on the door insistently.

Whoever it was seemed to be in a hurry.

I stood up with a sigh and walked to the door, opening it just a crack to see who it was so late.

_Nothing_.

There was no one standing there, or anywhere near on the landing or on the stairs.

I frowned, annoyed – it was probably just some stupid joke. With a huff, I closed the door and started to walk back to the living room, but when I was halfway through the corridor the knock came again, light and yet persistent.

_Rap, tap, ta-tap. Knock, tap, rap-ta tap._

It almost sounded like someone was drumming a tune on my front door, and for some reason it really annoyed me. Didn't these kids have anything better to do?

I stalked to the door and threw it open, ready to yell at whoever it was to find someone else to bother, but, once again, there was no one out there.

"What the hell do you –" I started, but the rest of the sentence died on my lips as I looked down at the doormat.

There, just below the red capitalised _WELCOME_, was a single English white rose, still not fully blossomed, its snowy petals perfect and unmarred.

With my heart hammering against my ribs, I picked it up. The long stem was still wet, and the rose was fresh, as though it had been just cut from the plant.

There was no way it was just a coincidence – there was no way anyone could know what the white rose meant to me, except…

Except for _him_.

But it couldn't be, right?

I stepped onto the landing, searching for a sign that anyone was there, but found none. If I squinted, though, I could see another flash of white just outside the circle of light of the landing lamp. And there it was, on the first step of the staircase that went downstairs – another rose, identical to the first. Again, I picked it up.

There was another white rose on the bottom step of the stairs. And another at the top of the following set of steps – like Tom Thumb's breadcrumbs, they looked like they were meant to be followed. And so I did, until I found myself in front of the thick glazed doors of the apartment building with a bouquet of ten white roses in my hands.

The elder porter, Hal, was sitting at his desk like always, calmly reading a book as he waited for the night porter to come and relieve him from his shift.

He heard me approaching and looked up, his eyes twinkling below his bushy silver eyebrows as he recognized me.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he greeted me kindly, politely touching his cap. Then, nodding his head towards the roses that I was holding, he added, "Those really are some nice flowers, Miss – whoever gave them to you must be quite fond of you, I expect."

I nodded slowly, holding the roses a little tighter, not caring about the curved thorns grazing my skin.

"Did you see anyone come in, Hal? Did – did you see who came in with the roses?" I asked, almost timidly, shaking slightly despite the warmth of the early September night.

I knew hoping was probably just going to hurt me, but the flowers – Ron was the only one who had ever given me white roses. It had to be him. It _had _to be.

"Well, Miss, let me think…There was Mr Parker with his wife, there was, coming back from a romantic dinner…And Mrs Tanner back from walking her dog…and the Youngs just came back from a friend's wedding – they were quite tipsy, they tried to get into the broom cupboard thinking it was the elevator…"

It _had _to be him.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," he added then, smiling at me knowingly. "A handsome young man came by probably fifteen minutes ago – he had a very polite British accent, he had. And he asked me if I could please give you this, if you ever came down with the flowers."

He pulled another white rose from under his desk, identical to the others that I was already holding, and gently handed it to me, nodding towards the door in the process.

"Last time I checked, he was pacing back and forth like he wanted to consume his shoes on the pavement. I wouldn't let him wait longer, Miss, if I were you."

Eleven white roses. He had told me something about giving roses to a woman once, something his father had taught to all of his sons from an early age.

_Roses are always gifted singularly, or in dozens. Never more than one or less than twelve at a time._

He always followed that rule when he gave me flowers.

Tentatively, I reached out and took the rose from Hal, carefully placing it with the others. Then, my hands shaking visibly, I placed my palm against the heavy glazed glass door and pushed, stepping out into the warm night air.

For a few moments, I feared I wouldn't find anyone – that it was only an illusion, a dream, and that I would find myself there, standing on the curb, alone and empty-handed.

Then I saw him, sitting on the bottom step of the stone staircase that led into the building. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, as though he had been running his hands through it again and again until it stood in every possible direction; his elbows were resting on his knees, and in his hands he was holding another rose – snowy white and still not fully bloomed.

The twelfth rose.

Not even daring to breathe for fear he was somehow going to disappear in front of my eyes, I slowly, silently walked down the steps, until I was so close to him I could have touched him if I only stretched my fingers towards him.

So I did, resting my shaking hand on his shoulder, and he looked up suddenly with a slight start, as though he hadn't even heard me approaching and was now surprised to se me there.

He was real. He was real, and he was there, in front of me, exactly when I was starting to think I was never going to see him again.

He stood, slowly, taking the hand that was still resting on his shoulder and holding it in his, entwining our fingers together. For once, me standing on the stone steps and him on the curb, we were the same height.

The first tear fell from my eyes, sliding down my face and dropping onto the roses, where it stayed trapped in the soft white petals. And slowly, more followed, one by one, and I realized that I had been fighting those tears back for weeks – since the moment I set foot on the plane that took me back to America.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, almost afraid to speak as he offered me the rose he was holding, carefully sliding in in the middle of the bouquet I was already holding.

"I've had an epiphany," he replied with a small smile, his voice just as soft as mine as his hands went to my face, gently wiping away the tears that kept falling down my cheeks.

"What kind of epiphany?" I asked, my heart going crazy in my chest as he leaned in, his nose bumping against mine ever-so-slightly.

His eyes twinkled, and he looked down, gently tucking the last rose in the middle of the bouquet that I was holding. He was buying time, I recognized the signs, and for a moment I felt like laughing and pushing him and tell him, _Stop beating around the bush, Ron, _as I used to. But for some reason it was as though something had changed in the three weeks that we had spent apart – there were a nervousness, a thick sense of expectation that were new to both of us. Between us, it had always been easy and playful, but now, it felt…_serious_. Like we had turned from kids to adults in a matter of a few weeks.

"I realized," he said then, his voice barely above a whisper, "What is really important. For even if I have everything, even if I have my life back exactly as it was before you came along, I…without you, I have nothing. And so I came here with – well, with nothing but a bunch of roses and the foolish hope that – that you'd say yes and…"

_Say yes? _I wondered, my heart faltering for a moment. He hadn't asked me anything, what did he…

"Say yes to what, Ronald?" I asked him, my voice shaky and unsure and somehow frightened, for I somehow knew that whatever the question was, it was going to change everything between us.

Gently, he pulled me with him until we were sitting on the low brick wall that ran around the colourful flowerbeds at either side of the stone steps, away from the pool of light of the streetlight and the wide glass doors of the building.

"Look into the rose," he said simply, his fingers lightly brushing the petals of the last flower he had given me, the only one that was not yet in full bloom.

Holding my breath, I carefully put the flowers down onto the wall by my side and picked the last rose from the very centre of the bouquet.

I hadn't noticed before, but there was something inside the delicate case of the petals – something barely visible in the dim light, except for a slight, pale shimmer.

Gently, for I didn't want to ruin the beautiful flower, I parted the delicate petals and reached for the tiny object encased within.

And for a moment I was sure that my heart had stopped beating.

For inside the rose was a ring – a beautiful ring, made of a thin silver band that twisted and knotted in a design of leaves and branches that looked as intricate as it was delicate, and that blossomed in a flower with impossibly thin petals, at the centre of which was encased a clear stone that caught and reflected the almost non-existent light in a way that made t look as though it was glowing from the inside. Its lines were worn, as were the edges of the stone, making me think that it was really, really old – like a piece of antique jewelry. But it couldn't be…

"I know we are just eighteen," Ron said then, as I lifted my eyes to look questioningly at him, "And I know that, for now, all that I can offer you is just a promise, but…what I feel for you will never change. It's foolish, but – you're all I need. All I'll _ever _need. And even if I came here to beg you to come back home with me, I've just realized that it doesn't really matter, for I'd gladly give up everything and come here, if that's what you wanted –"

I pressed a finger to his lips then, before he could continue, and I just looked at him – at that boy, that _man_, who was willing to give up anything, just for me. He was willing to leave his home, his family and his friends and come here, just because I had been too stupid to see that coming back to America hadn't been the right thing to do, but the biggest mistake of my life. For here, in this huge city, there was nothing for me – not anymore.

So I kissed him, with all I was, with all I had, and as he kissed me back, his arms winding gently and protectively around me, I knew that neither of us would have ever let go of the other again.

"Was that a yes?" he murmured against my lips when we eventually parted, his breath short and his eyes twinkling like the ocean at night.

I kissed him again, unable to stop smiling.

_Yes. Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes._

Eventually we managed to part, and Ron took my hands in his, taking the ring that I was still holding and carefully slipping it on my finger, in its rightful place, before he laced out fingers together.

"This ring has been passed on in my mother's family since the early 1800s," he murmured softly, resting his forehead against mine. "From mother to son, to be given to the woman the son wanted to marry. I think the eldest son was supposed to have it, but Mom has never been one for traditions."

_Marry. _The ring went to the woman the son wanted to_ marry._

"Marry, huh?" I asked him, teasingly, and he grinned as the trademark Weasley blush crept its way up to his ears.

"Someday, yes. We can wait however long you want. We can graduate. Finish college before we even start thinking about it. But someday," he lifted our entwined hands to gently caress my cheek with the back of his hand, "I'll make you a Weasley."

"Is this a proposal, Ronald?" I asked, smiling as more tears threatened to fall from my eyes at his words.

I was almost waiting for some jokey answer, but I surely wasn't expecting it when he went down on one knee in front of me, holding both my hands in his as his eyes bore into mine with such intensity they smouldered like stormy blue fire.

Oh. My. God. Was he really doing this?

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said softly, his fingers lightly brushing against the ring on my left hand, "Will you, in a few months, or years, or whatever time unit you will repute appropriate," At that I grinned, though by now I was crying again, "Do me the incredible, wonderful honour of becoming my wife?"

And though it was crazy, for we were both eighteen, and we still were in school, and no one married at our age anymore, not for love, not in this century, there was only one answer that I could ever give him.

"_Yes_," I breathed, feeling my heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird in my ribcage. "_Yes_."

At that he grinned, and stood, and took me I his arms as he kissed me again, and again, and again, until we were both breathless and shaky. Then he picked me up and spun me in the air, and I laughed, feeling light and free and filled with a joy that I had rarely felt before.

"When she sees the ring, Aunt Elspeth is going to kill me," I whispered with a smile when he eventually set my feet back onto the ground. "And the rest of the guys – oh my, and Emma! Oh, she will be so happy when I tell her that we – that we are…"

"Engaged?" he smirked, and I blushed at the thought. Engaged. At eighteen. God, we were surely going to be quite the scandal around town, even if we weren't planning to get married for a while.

I nodded, smiling and entwining my fingers with his once again.

"That," I said softly, as he leaned in to kiss me again, "And that we're going home."

This time, to stay.

_**Fin**_

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><p><strong>And so, here it is - the end of this story, of the journey that had started two years ago as a simple drabble and that has developed in the biggest project I have ever worked onto. I can't believe I made it - I still haven't fully wrapped my mind around it, to be honest :)<strong>

**I really, really hope you liked it, guys. I really put the best I could in this story, though I probably wouldn't have hadn't it been for your wonderful reviews - they really made my day, _every day_, making me smile and helping me to get through the worst writer's blocks, which would have probably made me just give up hadn't it been for your encouragment and feedback. You really are great.  
><strong>

**If I could, I'd give each and every of you hugs and cookies. But since I can, the only thing that I can say is the biggest**

**THANK YOU**

**that I have ever said. **

**I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. **

**Until the next story! :D**

**J.**


	20. Epilogue

**So, here I am again, with yet another chapter - well, an epilogue, to be more precise. A peek in the life of Ron and Hermione, 10 years after he showed up at her doorstep with the white roses. It is fluffy and romantic, you are warned - but you guys know how I am. ;) I hope you like it! Enjoy! :D**

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><p>The warm early September afternoon is wonderfully sunny, the air crisp as an apple; autumn has arrived exceptionally early this year, but the sun is still warm enough for us all to ignore the unseasonable chilly breeze that sweeps over the fields.<p>

It is hard to believe ten years have actually passed, and yet it has been just over a decade since I found that single white rose on my doorstep in Seattle. Little has changed since then - and yet, at the same time, so much is different.

We walk down the hill, Ron's arm carefully supporting me - he's probably afraid that I'll trip and just roll down the slope, giving how much my pregnant stomach has grown lately, and I don't mind, for even though I would never admit it out loud, I kind of think he may be right.

The students swarm around us, chatting and laughing, eager to leave to be out and about with their friends; their red, blue, yellow and green sweaters and scarves form colourful bubbles of colour against the bright sky, seemingly daring the cool wind to bring along the clouds and chill that will soon arrive.

"Bye, Professor Granger, Professor Weasley!" many of them say cheerfully as they pass us, nodding their heads in our direction before running off again. Today, the first of September – the first day of the new autumn term – it has been exactly five years since Ron and I first walked through the tall main doors of Hogwarts not as students, but as Professor Granger, English teacher and Head of Gryffindor, and Professor Weasley, PE teacher and football coach.

"Hey, wait for us!"

I smile as Emma - my little Emma, who isn't so little anymore at sixteen and a half - comes bouncing towards us, proudly sporting her Gryffindor scarf around her neck and holding the hand of a tall bespectacled boy dressed in the colours of Ravenclaw.

"How was your first day of term, Em?" I ask with a grin as she slides her free arm around my shoulders, helping Ron support me - even though there is no need to, as I am barely six months into the pregnancy. A few more weeks, and they won't even allow me to leave bed; I'm ready to bet on that.

"Snape threatened to to kick her out ten minutes into the lesson, so everything is going just as usual," Tommy - or Tom, as he now prefers to be called - answers for her, grinning mischievously. When he graduated from eighth grade, he somehow managed to convince his parents that studying abroad was an extremely educative experience for a fifteen-year-old boy, especially considering how much better English schools were compared to American ones, and so we had made arrangements for him to come and stay with us to study at Hogwarts with Emma for a term – a term that had been extended to a semester, then to a year, and that was still being extended now, two years after he had arrived in England. Needless to say, Emma was overjoyed when she knew that he would be going to Hogwarts with her - and I had the confirmation of the reason for such joy when I first saw them holding hands, a couple of weeks after his arrival. Never, in sixteen years, have I seen my sister so radiant - and all thanks to young Tom.

I look at them walking by our side, fingers entwined, him so tall and gangly, her with the unruly hair and a spring in her step, and I can't help of thinking of when it was Ron and I who used to walk down that path every day, looking remarkably like they do right now.

He will make her happy - I know he will. After all, it's never been a mystery that little Tom was completely enamoured with my Emma, right from the very first day they met, when he was barely a year old and she had just arrived home from the hospital. Even then, I remember he looked at the tiny pink bundle that was my baby sister in utter wonder, like he had never seen anything more beautiful that the grumpy, crinkly baby that she was at three days of age.

"Mione, you might want to hurry up a little bit, or Rosie will think that we have forgotten that we have to pick her up. You know the first day of Year One is even more important than birthday and Christmas put together," Emma reminds me, only half-joking, and I roll my eyes - I'm not _that _slow. And besides, I _do_ have a right to be slow, since I have to carry around not only myself, but also a round six-month-pregnant stomach of the size of a small watermelon.

In spite of Emma's teasing, we get to the school minutes before the bell, and we join the crowd of parents and relatives waiting just outside the large glass doors of P. Hogsmeade Primary School. There are many familiar faces around - mostly relatives of ours, as the whole Weasley-Potter clan seems to be there.

There is Ginny, sporting a pregnant belly almost as big as mine, with Harry holding her in the same way that Ron is supporting me, as though he is afraid that she would suddenly fall over. Even though this is her third pregnancy, she told me he is still as fussy as he was the first time. There are Fred and George, respectively holding hands with Katie and Angelina, and both Molly Weasley and Lily Potter, who are now Grandma Molly and Nana Lily to their endless swarm of nephews and nieces - most of whom are about to come out of the doors in front of us.

Then there are Neville and Luna, the Creevey brothers with their wives, Dean Thomas, Lee Jordan, Hannah Abbot...Even, a little way away, Draco Malfoy and his wife Astoria - a nice and incredibly smart Ravenclaw girl who used to be in the year below ours in our time at Hogwarts; she was taking several advanced classes, so we happened to work together from time to time in our English or Calculus. How such a kind and lively girl has married such an unpleasant man, I will never understand, but she seems to have tamed him...as far as anyone can see, at least.

The bell goes, and shortly after the doors open, letting out the children; laughter and loud, infantile chatter bubble in the air as they swarm out, running to their families with huge grins on their faces.

"Mommy!"

"Rosie!"

I crouch down and open my arms as my Rose, my beautiful little Rose, runs to me and hugs me tightly, winding her tiny arms around my neck. I hug her back, until she wiggles away, giggling. I smile at her, pushing one of her bushy auburn curls back behind her ear. She has Ron's colours, with her dark red hair and blue eyes, but she looks like me, with her bushy curls, upturned nose and high cheekbones.

"Hi Daddy!" she says happily, waving at Ron with a big grin. Then, as an afterthought, "Hi, little brother," she adds, kissing my stomach through my jumper in such an adorable way that I can't resist enveloping her in another bear hug.

"How was school, my love?" I ask her, tapping her nose with the tip of my index finge. "Did you make any friends? I want to know everything - Aunt Elspeth has invited us all over for tea and brownies, so that you children can tell us all that you have done today." Even at eighty-one, Aunt Elspeth hasn't lost her touch in the kitchen, though she now spends just as much time snoozing in her favourite armchair as she does baking in the kitchen.

"Brownies!" Rose squeals happily, clapping her hands together and jumping up – a reaction that she had taken from Emma. "Can Al come too?" she asks excitedly, pointing at her favourite cousin Albus, who is currently cackling like mad as Harry hoists him on his shoulders and twirls around once.

"We are all going, honey - all your cousins, Uncles and Aunties, and Granny and Nana too. We are all going to take our tea together while you tell us everything that you have learned today," I assure her, and she squeals again, jumping up and down like a cute redheaded bunny.

Suddenly, she widens her eyes, like she has remembered something really important all of a sudden.

"Mommy, Mommy," she says, tugging at my jumper urgently. "Mommy, can Scorp come, too? And his Mommy and Daddy?"

"Who is Scorp, sweetie?" Ron asks, lifting our daughter in his arms and kissing her cheek soundly, grinning the goofy, dopey smile that only our daughter can bring out.

"He is my best_est_ friend. We sit together in class and he's _soo _nice...and smart! He already knows how to _write_! And he promised me that he will teach me, too!" she exclaims, her eyes shining brightly with excitement. "Can he come, too, Daddy? Pl_eeeee_ase..."

She knows perfectly well that she has Ron wrapped around her little finger, and I have to suppress a laugh - there is no way he is going to refuse her anything when she makes those adorable puppy eyes.

"Well, I don't see why he shouldn't come, Pumpkin" Ron says in fact punctually, smiling and putting Rose back on the ground. "Why don't you go and bring him here then? And his parents?"

Rose nods eagerly, smiling widely, and she runs off into the crowd of children, her pink Rapunzel backpack bouncing on her shoulders.

"Is Scorp really coming, too?" Albus, Harry's youngest, asks then from his perch on his father's shoulders, grinning as he pushes his round glasses up his nose. "Cool! I like him, and Rosie does too - he's fun and really smart! And he likes Rosie a lot - this morning he said that he wants to marry her when we're all grown-up!" he says, giggling and bouncing up and down.

"Marry, huh?" Ron asks with a grin as we exchange an amused glance. "Five years old, and she already has boys going after her...Well, let's see this young suitor, then -"

"Mommy, Daddy, he is Scorp!" Rose squeals then, smiling widely as she pulls a little boy by the hand - a pale little boy with white-blond hair, an upturned nose and big steel-grey eyes.

_Such pranks Destiny likes to pull on us sometimes..._

"...and these are his Mommy and Daddy!" she adds happily, nodding towards the couple following them closely.

I find myself staring right at Astoria and Draco Malfoy, who, to be honest, look just as surprised and embarrassed as Ron and I.

Surprisingly, it is Draco who breaks the awkward silence, extending his hand above the children's heads.

"Mr and Mrs Weasley, I presume," he says with a tight smile, and Ron shakes his hand, his eyes tight with suspicion. It looks like they are trying to shatter each other's fingers.

"Then you must be Mr and Mrs Malfoy," he replies in a slightly menacing tone that makes me roll my eyes - seriously? How can he still hold a grudge against Malfoy after a _decade_?

"Your lovely daughter was talking about inviting us to tea with your family," Astoria said, smiling at me knowingly and patting Rose's head. "We would be delighted to come, if the offer still stands."

Finally, someone who has more sense than our husbands!

"Of course it still stands!" I reply immediately, ruffling little Scorp's hair in an affectionate manner. "If our children are best_est _friends already, then we are practically family!"

"Dear Hermione, you literally read my thoughts," Astoria says with a smile that makes her look like she is sixteen again. "And there's nothing better than a cup of tea to catch up on all that has happened since we left Hogwarts."

"Let's get going, then - Gin, Harry, will you gather the rest of the family?" I ask, and Ginny nods with a smile, gesturing for us to go.

"I'll see you at Aunt Elspeth's in a few minutes!" she calls, waving and ruffling her eldest son's hair - something which seven-year-old James seems to find rather embarrassing, as he quickly wiggles away from his mother.

So we start walking, cutting across a grassy field walking alongside with the Malfoys, while Rose and little Scorp - which is short for Scorpius, Astoria tells me, an unfortunate consequence of Draco's passion for astronomy - run ahead, laughing and chatting together like they have known each other their whole lives. And I notice, as they play, that little Scorpius has the same expression that young Tom used to have when he looked at Emma - and that he still has, actually, almost all the time. It is pure, utter wonder and adoration, like my daughter is the sun that he sees for the first time. And it warms my heart.

Draco tries to say something - I'm surprised that he's trying to make conversation, and I appreciate it, for he really seems to be trying to get along with us, at least for the children's sake - and Ron replies with an unintelligible grumble, burying his hands in his pockets like the brooding teenager that, deep down, he still is.

"Be nice," I remind him in a whisper, lightly poking him in the ribs with my elbow, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he huffs, looking every bit like a petulant child. "But there's no way - I say, _no way_," he half-growls, emphasising the last two words, "That _that_ little Scorpi_on _is marrying _our baby_. _No. Way. _Our Rosie with a _Slytherin_? I'll french kiss Snape before that day comes!"

I look at the children again, than back to Ron's slightly scowling expression, and I can't suppress a giggle - for the image of Snape's disgusted and outraged face is extremely hilarious.

Later that day, as we adults chat the afternoon away while the children run and play in the yard, I see little Scorpius carefully pick a flower from Aunt Elspeth's flourishing plants to shyly offer it to my Rosie, his cheeks tinted of an adorable pink as she hugs him in thank you.

Among all the beautiful, brightly coloured flowers that surround us, he has chosen the simplest - just an English rose, barely blooming.

A white rose.

As my daughter runs to me to show me the flower, I catch Ron's eyes, and I see a river of emotions crossing his face in the span of a few seconds: surprise, anger, jealousy, dislike, doubt, and finally…resignation.

For we all know what can start from one single white rose.

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><p><strong>So, this is the very end of the story - at least, how I see it should end. I have always had a love for the idea of Rose and Scorpius together...I think they would be the cutest couple, driving their families mad with their Romeo and Juliet relationship. What did you think? loved it? Hated it? Let me know, and as always...review, review, review! :D And thanks for putting up with me till the end of the story!<strong>

**By the way, if you enjoyed the idea of little Scorp and Rose, go check my new story, Little Rose Weasley! And maybe my other stories too...Thanks guys! Hugs and cookies to you all! ;D**

**Jez**


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